


In Love and in War

by alikuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Guilt, Lots of OC's, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Reversed Power Dynamics, Seduction, Sex, Silverfisting, Slow Burn, Vulnerable Annatar, silvergifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Sauron's story of deceiving the elves is so loosely told in canon that it can be interpreted differently every time. Here is another way it may have happened...This fic is set in the early days of Eregion. Ost-in-Edhil is a growing trade city where Celebrimbor is the leader of one of the most prestigious craft guilds. Celeborn and Galadriel rule the region, as vassals of Gil Galad (Lindon) and allies of Oropher (Greenwood).





	1. Chapter 1

It was early spring when the host of Eregion’s Lord and Lady, accompanied by several of their best architects and artisans attempted to cross the pass of Caradhras on the way back to their Western settlements. The traveling party of Elves had stayed in King Orodreth's woodland domain through the winter and had set off to Eregion as soon as the first flowers had begun to poke their shy heads from the softening snow.

The winter was mild that year, so the journey back to Eregion hadn’t been difficult thus far, however the final obstacle on their way was as treacherous as ever. The mountainous paths were still covered in snow as deep as an elf’s height and icy winds blew from the summit up above. 

The Elves made camp for the night lighting fires and braziers between huddled tents to keep warm. The Noldor and the Sindar did not easily sicken, but they preferred comfort and luxury wherever they could afford it. For that reason on that visit to Greenwood, Celebrimbor, Eregion's most esteemed jeweller and smith, had also accompanied the party and lent his services.

The craftsman in question was greatly gladdened to be on his way back to Ost-in-Edhil, one of the leading trade cities of the Second Age, where he headed a prestigious guild of jewelers, known as the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. However, jewelry and precious metals were far from the only things on the Noldo's mind - Tyelperinquar was involved in almost every aspect of the growing city's development, having descended from a line of lords himself, and holding the natural inclination towards creating order and bettering establishment wherever he went.

On that night Celebrimbor was reading in the candlelight, sat on a wooden stool in front of a folding bench, which served the twin purposes of dining table and a writing desk. In front of him were sketches for a new plumbing system for Ost-in-Edhil, a collaborative effort with Gaudir, the chief architect of Celeborn's house.

He was deep in thought when someone decided to enter his private tent despite the ungodly hour and made himself known with a clearing of the throat.

“Master Celebrimbor, the Lord of Eregion requires your presence.” Calenion of Celeborn's guard stated in an even voice, which meant that it was an order, rather than a request.

Suppressing a sigh of frustration, Tyelperinquar put down his quill and turned to look at the Lord's messenger.

“May I know why he needs me so late in the night?” The smith asked.

“It’s a matter of your ability to understand Quenya.” The ner responded and looked pointedly at Celebrimbor’s still sitting stance. “I would suggest that you hurry to respond to his summon, it requires some urgency.”

“And why not ask the Lady? Her Quenya is arguably better than mine.” Tyelpe contended, finding it impossible to hide his irritation.

He had been at the Lord Celeborn’s beck and call for the better part of the last season, aiding in his diplomatic negotiations by providing help and knowledge to the Silvan elves in Greenwood for Orodreth’s benefit. The Noldo had been hoping to be left to his own devices once the visit was over and had been anxious to resume his projects on the improvements of the city, which he considered his home.

“I would not question our Lord - he has judged that Lady Galadriel should not be troubled.” The Sindar warrior scolded but the statement captured Celebrimbor’s attention. There was very little that did not concern or involve Galadriel in Eregion. The fact that her husband had chosen not to call her was strange and intriguing.

“Alright, take me to him.” Celebrimbor said, standing up and making short, economic movements to pick up his felt-cloak and wrap it around his shoulders.

Calenion flipped opened the tent's flap and lead the craftsman into the snowy night.  
…

Celebimbor’s guide took him outside the camp, down a narrow mountainous path, which threaded through the dangerous pass between jagged peaks and deep gorges.

The wind was freezing but the night was bright and blue, illuminated by a crescent moon reflecting off the snow. The elves walked on top of the drifts, avoiding the long, sharp icicles, which hung like blades from each precipice. Tyelpe pulled his hood over his dark hair, now dotted with fat snowflakes, to protect his sensitive ears from the chill. They didn’t walk long before the orange light of braziers indicated a gathering of elves and fumes of smoke rising to the sky caught the craftsman’s attention.

“Is something burning?” He asked.

“You will see.” Calenion responded as he took Celebrimbor around the final corner on their trail, reviewing the strange sight ahead.

A small group of Sindar warriors surrounded Lord Celeborn, whose starlight hair shone in the fire of the torches.

“He’s here, my Lord!” Calenion called and the Lord of Eregion’s leaf-green eyes turned to meet them.

The set of Celeborn’s mouth was strained and the furrow of his brows wary. He motioned to Celebrimbor to follow and approached a steaming pit in the snow, which his warriors had surrounded.

“Our scouts came across this one as they surveyed the road ahead.” The tall Sinda explained. “It seems that it speaks Quenya, but I do not know the language of your forefathers well enough to understand it.”

The two neri walked over the snowdrift and looked down a crater-like hole where a blackened figure writhed helplessly, making the snow around it hiss and evaporate. Celebrimbor's eyes widened, observing the strange, but seemingly harmless being, which judging by the jerking useless movements over the melting snow, was wounded.

“We would have shot it down, but I believe it’s asking for mercy.” Celeborn said, observing the craftsman’s expression carefully. "I thought that someone should ask what it wants before we kill it."

“It looks like a balrog.” Tyelpe gasped disbelievingly.

"A rather small one." His Lord confirmed sardonically.

"What do you reckon it is?" The smith asked.

“We don’t know. But it will be good if you find that out first.” Celeborn suggested and put his gloved hands on his hips, turning his attention to the crippled thing below.

The being's heat had burned through two-meters of frozen snow. Blinking away the rising steam, Celebrimbor could see it was humanoid in the situation of its limbs, with long luminous yellow hair and pale skin, scorched in places, forming wounds that gaped like fiery seams. The arms and legs were unnaturally shaped and ended in sharp claws. It appeared undressed, except for a mist-like quality of the air that gathered around it. The face it turned to the elves was almost painfully beautiful in its perfect symmetry, with the exception of the eyes, which were disconcerting and uncanny. They were golden, surrounded by black scleras and they glowed in the dark with a frightful intensity.

Celebrimbor was appalled by the idea of approaching such a beast before a weak hiss came from the creature’s colourless lips. It sounded like a “please don’t hurt me” in a dialect of Quenya so ancient that Celebrimbor could hardly be certain of it.

The weakened voice and its obvious distress made the craftsman's heart clench with pity. Like all elves, he hated suffering and he didn't wish to see an innocent being hurting needlessly if he could prevent it. Therefore, slowly, he began descending into the crater of snow, movements careful and non-threatening as he approached the bottom.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Celebrimbor spoke gently in Quenya when he was but a meter away from the fallen thing. He looked over his shoulder to where Celeborn stood at the edge with his archers ready to let the arrows fly at the first sign of a threat.

The Lord of Eregion nodded and Tyelpe turned back to the unfortunate creature, slowly kneeling to get closer to it’s eye level.

“Do you understand me?” He asked and after a tense moment of stillness and silence, the being nodded weakly.

It struggled to rise from its side to its shaky elbows. Hearing the ringing of bow-strings pulled taunt, Celebrimbor raised his hand to halt the archers. He thought he could hear the being speak, but he did not understand what it said.

“Are you hurt?” He asked and when no answer came he tried again, “What are you?”

This time the answering words were clearer.

“Mine kind is nameless to thy people. ” It whispered and seized its nervous movements in favour of tilting its head in such a way that its golden eyes could settle on Celebrimbor fully.

As the smith watched in fascination, the black from those eyes began leaching away until the scleras resembled that of the Elves - white and clear. After that transformation, its face looked even lovelier than before. The body was still strange and genderless by elven standards, but the limbs were slowly morphing into normalcy, losing the odd angles and acquiring more familiar features.

“It is clear that you are one of the Maiar.” Celebrimbor struggled to reign his tremendous curiosity and went on to ask firmly, “Are you a power of Good or a servant of the Dark Lord?”

“I wast Melkor’s prisoner and servant, but am so no more.” He, Celebrimbor was almost certain, responded. “I has't no master now.”

“Do you repudiate Moringotto’s will?” Celebrimbor asked, emboldened by those statements.

“I nev'r concurred.” The wounded Maia rasped.

In the pause that followed Celeborn’s somber voice called from above:

“What are you saying of Morgoth?”

“I asked if he was a servant of the Shadow.” Celebrimbor answered, looking up at his Lord. “He says that he was a prisoner and an unwilling servant of Morgoth and that he has turned away from that path.”

“Do you trust it?” The Lord of Eregion asked with a raised eyebrow.

Celebrimbor glanced back to the smoke-ridden Maia, whose flames how now all but subdued and the burns on its skin looked like fleshly wounds and bruises, like those one would see on an injured incarnate creature.

“I don’t know.” Celebrimbor admitted thoughtfully.

He didn’t trust him yet, but he wished to. Something about the Maia’s weakness called on the kindness inside the elf’s heart and a strange sort of sympathy for the the being’s misfortune.

“What is your name?” He asked in Quenya.

“Annatar.” The Maia answered and looked up with tired golden eyes.

During the brief exchange between Tyelpe and his Lord more changes had occurred to the being’s body. The claws had withdrawn, decreasing in size until they were nearly the size of normal elven nails. Its body had taken shape not unlike Celebrimbor’s own, loosing the shadows, which covered it and acquiring male secondary sex characteristics - a set of broad shoulders, defined muscle-tone underneath the smooth skin, narrow hips and male genitalia. It almost looked like nothing more than a wounded elf by the time the transformation had occurred. The craftsman wondered if these changes were intentional, or if the Maia was of a kind, which imitated other beings around it.

“Don’t hurt me.” Annatar whispered again, softly and pathetically, and it made Celebrimbor aware of the look of intense interest, which he had not remembered to disguise.

“Don’t be afraid, Annatar.” Celebrimbor reassured softly, finding the name odd, for its meaning translated to Lord of Gifts, yet liking how it rolled off his tongue nevertheless. “We do not hurt or chain those who have turned away from evil.”

The fallen Maia nodded but the trembling of his shoulders gave away that he was not convinced.

“Tell your men to lower their weapons!” Celebrimbor ordered Celeborn as he was prone to do when he was not paying enough attention to remember he wasn’t in his workshop instructing apprentices. “I got this.”

Thankfully, the Lord of Eregion let that one slide, possibly because of the situation at hand or because it was his wife’s cousin, and after some hesitation commanded his warriors to do as Celebrimbor asked.

“Can you tell me what manner of Maia you are, or what you do at least?” Tyelpe asked, tentatively moving forward until he was crouching but a few steps away from the huddled creature.

“I wast a spirit of fire.” Annatar said without meeting the elf’s eyes. “I forged metals. Madeth things.”

Celebrimbor almost smiled at that, but suppressed the urge, and asked instead:

“And now?"

“Now I don’t knoweth.” The fallen Maia lowered his forehead to the snow, hiding his face in what looked like pain.

“We can help you, if you allow us.” Celebrimbor offered without thought. “Would you like to come with us to our camp? Our healers will aid you with your wounds and you can tell us more about what you can do.”

The Maia’s eyes widened in fear and it recoiled at the mention of being taken anywhere. Celebrimbor pulled back and raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

“No one will take you against your will.” He reassured. “I am merely offering you help, if you need it.”

“I has't toldeth thee mine name but thou has't not toldeth me yours.” The Maia stated warily. “Who art thee and why doth thee wish to help me?”

Celebrimbor was slightly hurt by the suspicion in the creature’s voice, but he reasoned that it was warranted. He had seen Morgoth’s escaped slaves, many of whom were now working in Ost-in-Edhil, a city that had welcomed a mixed lot of all, and he still remembered the sharp, paranoid temper of his uncle, after he had been a prisoner in Angband. In truth, Tyelpe supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“My name is Celebrimbor.” He answered. “And I am a craftsman and a metalsmith too. My Lord is Celeborn, who governs over Eregion where we live and where we’re currently headed. We are elves and we do not wish to see any creature suffer, therefore we would help, if you allow us.”

“Thee speaketh on behalf of thy Lord, but I don’t heareth him saying anything.” Annatar whispered shrewdly and Celebrimbor’s heart fluttered at the reprimand. It was another response he had not anticipated.

“He wouldn’t have called for me to translate your speech or halt his sword if he did not wish to offer you mercy.” Tyelpe contended. “But I will ask him to confirm it, if that would ease your mind.”

And switching to Sindar he spoke:

“Lord Celeborn, won’t you spare this Maia, who has repudiated Morgoth? He is wary of us, but he needs our help.”

“I can see that it needs help, but what makes you so certain that it’s not evil?” Celeborn answered gravely. “I would not take a creature of unholy flame into my camp and near my people.”

“He is a fire spirit, but we don’t know if his flame is unholy or holy for that matter. All that Morgoth touches tarnishes, but we have already admitted so many of his former slaves amongst our cities.” Celebrimbor argued. “Have you not given me a chance, even if the deeds of my ancestors are written in blood across our people’s history? Can you not do the same for him?”

“I will spare it, but grant it help, I would rather not.” The Lord of Eregion professed after a long pause.

“He says he is a craftsman. I would truly like to see what he can do.” Celebrimbor pressed on. “Will you grant me your permission to aid him and bring him to my house in Ost-in-Edhil where he could recover?”

Celeborn’s jade eyes narrowed and he looked down at his vassal for several long, tense seconds.

“I do not agree to this, but this realm has a Lady as well as a Lord.” He decided in the end. “I know you are dear to her, so you might get your wish. However, if something ill was to happen because of it, I will hold you solely responsible, Feanorian.”

“That is fair.” Celebrimbor nodded and then remembering his manners added, “Thank you, my Lord.”

“Bring a stretcher, so we can carry the Maia to our camp.” Celeborn ordered his men.

“You won’t regret this kindness, my Lord.” Celebrimbor added and Celeborn rolled his eyes before walking away.

The smith knew he had overdone it, but was just so terribly elated to have gotten his way. He turned to Annatar with a bright smile.

“He has agreed to aid you.” He beamed at the Maia, speaking once again in Quenya.” We will bring you to our camp and heal you. Then you can come to my city and I will show you our forges and workshops.”

“And what if I don’t wanteth to cometh?” Annatar asked, bright eyes flashing with challenge, despite his weakened state.

It was not the answer Celebrimbor wanted, but it got his heart beating faster nevertheless.

“At least allow us to aid you before going wherever you wish.” He offered. “No one will hold you against your will. But if you wanted to come along, you would be welcomed. Ost-in-Edhil is a city of craftsmen and you will find its doors are opened to all who wish to work and learn within its halls.”

The Maia’s eyes weighed down on him, searching his face for answers to questions unasked. Tyelpe felt heat rise under his tunic because of the intensity of that scrutiny despite the howling wind, which blew from the frozen peaks around them.

“Why art thee so generous to me?” Annatar asked softly, so no one but Celebrimbor might hear.

“Because I believe that there should be a chance of redemption for everyone.” The craftsman answered with conviction.

Annatar looked at him thoughtfully and then closed his golden eyes and laid his head on the ground, turning that handsome face into the melting snow.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you have any news of him?” Celebrimbor approached Celeborn rather disrespectfully when he spotted his Lord passing through their encampment.

The craftsman had waited by the healer's tent through the long hours of the night, watching Celeborn's men come and go, but not daring to disturb the work of the medics or risk angering his Lord by barging in and finding out how Annatar was doing on his own.

The Lord of Eregion paused to fix his wife's cousin a level stare.

“You are still here." Celeborn pointed out, letting only a minuscule note of exasperation creep into his solemn tone. "Aren't you cold, or is the fabled curiosity of the Feanorians burning you up from the inside?"

"Both, I'm afraid." Celebrimbor admitted with a rueful smirk. "And please excuse my directness, I just wanted to make sure that he's getting better."

"Why do you keep referring to _it_ as a _he_?" The Lord raised a dark eyebrow, which gave contrast to his silver hair in a way that was common amongst the Sindar, but quite different from the Noldor, whose locks and facial hair usually matched.

“He looks male.” Celebrimbor shrugged, thinking that Annatar's lack of clothing had made his apparent gender obvious.

“That Maia didn’t look male when we first saw it. Did you not see how it changed in our presence?" The Sinda challenged. "What's to say that it wouldn't have taken a female form, had we been nissi instead of neri?"

The statement bothered Celebrimbor. It suggested that Annatar had changed for them, possibly in order to elicit sympathy or manipulate them in some way.

"Perhaps, but it's too early to tell." He disagreed. “We know next to nothing of his kind and their behaviour. Furthermore, I think it's cruel to refer to him as if he were an object."

“As long as you don’t forget that _he_ 's different from us.” Celeborn reprimanded. “You are too eager to trust him and seem to forget that he himself admitted to having been at the service of Morgoth.”

“These are circumstances, which he couldn't control - one doesn’t choose whom to be enslaved by or the deeds of their kin.” Celebrimbor countered. “Annatar said that he has turned away from the Shadow, so we should give him at least the benefit of the doubt.”

“Do not lecture me as if I'm one of your apprentices!" His Lord warned. "I believe that I have a better grasp on what's right and wrong than the son of murderers."

Celebrimbor pursed his lips but knew better than to argue or try to defend himself. Celeborn was usually generous and kind to him, except in situations when they disagreed and the Lord didn't miss an opportunity to rub such words in his face.

"I have already given him mercy and the benefit of the doubt." The Lord continued. "I am merely pointing out that you are too fast to cast away all doubts in his favour. It is strange that he appeared only now. It’s been over a thousand years since Morgoth was defeated. Don't you wonder where he has been during the centuries in between? And what caused the fresh wounds, with which we discovered him?"

Celebrimbor couldn’t deny that those circumstances were a bit strange indeed, but he could think of an explanation:

“What are a thousand years to a grieving Maia? Don’t we know that time does not pass the same way for them, as it does for us? Melian and Thingol were locked in wonder of each other for several decades. What is to say that Annatar was not in a similar state, one caused by grief of the misfortunes, which had befallen him?”

“It might be the case.” Celeborn reluctantly acknowledged. “But be wary, Celebrimbor. You are too quick to defend him. Why do you care so much anyway?”

“I merely wish for a chance to observe him better.” Tyelpe claimed. "I haven't lived in the presence of a Maia as you have, and I have scientific interest in interacting with him."

“Mhm..." Celeborn looked unimpressed. "Are you conducting one such observation right now?"

“I-" The smith looked about. Dawn was lighting up the ridges to the east and the frozen air of their breaths was steaming in the nighttime chill. He realised that he must have looked slightly crazed to stand and wait in the cold.

"I didn’t want Annatar to be alone.” Celebrimbor admitted.

“He is not alone.” Celeborn pointed out. “The healers are in the tent with him.”

“Yes, but it's not the same.”

When the following silence stretched, his Lord spoke:

“Go get some rest, Celebrimbor.” He said. Tyelpe hesitated and Celeborn added: “That’s an order.”

“May I at least make sure that Annatar’s okay?” The smith insisted, thinking that it would sooth the Maia to know that someone had bothered to ask after his well-being.

The Lord of Eregion heaved a sigh of resignation before allowing it.

...

Celebrimbor entered the healer’s tent first, followed closely by his Lord.

“How is he?” Tyelpe asked the nis, who was their party's travel medic.

“We are not sure.” She admitted remorsefully. “There is little we can do for him, except keeping him comfortable on a warm bed. His wounds are different than anything we have seen and we were unable to reach his spirit in any way. It’s as if he doesn’t see or hear us.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes had already located Annatar, who was lying in the far section of the tent, behind a semi-sheer curtain. From the entrance he could see the Maia’s beautiful face, smooth and lax with a far-away look in his golden eyes. He was tucked in with clean linen and furs, but he appeared sickly and distant, like an elf on the verge of fading from grief.

“May I speak to him?” He asked past the knots of concern, which had tightened his throat.

“I don’t see why not." The healer permitted. "At this point it might only help.”

Celebrimbor made his way through the small tent, while Celeborn and the medic hung back. The smith pushed the curtain aside carefully, mindful not to make too much noise, and gingerly sat at the edge of Annatar's cot, looking down at his quiescent beauty.

“Annatar?” He spoke gently, resisting the urge to smooth back the rich blond locks, which had fallen over the Maia’s handsome brow. “Can you hear me?”

The being’s amber eyes turned to the direction of his voice and focused on his face. A small smile quirked the edges of his plump lips.

“Celebrimbor.” Annatar said his name in velvety tones, making the elf startle slightly and his stomach flutter curiously.

Behind him, Tyelpe could hear the healer whispering that Annatar hadn't given any reaction to anyone since he had been brought, and that was the first time she had heard him speak. The knowledge bewildered the smith, but he tried to push the thoughts aside as Annatar continued to talk in his ancient dialect of Quenya:

“Thee art hither.” Annatar sighed with gladness and rose from the bed a little to better look at Celebrimbor.

“Of course. I wasn't too far away.” Tyelpe reassured, still surprised that the Maia was reacting to him of all people.

“I wast wondering if I would ever see thee again.” Annatar sighed and rested his head back on the pillow, weariness and sadness settling over his features once again.

Celebrimbor frowned in pity, imagining the horrors that the Maia must have went through, in order to fear forced separation.

“You don't have to worry, I'm not going to disappear anywhere.” He promised and then inquired softly, “How are you feeling? The healers said that they haven’t been able to aid you. Can you give me any indication as why that may be?”

“I don’t knoweth.” Annatar's eyelids lowered tiredly. “Thy healer’s methods art strange. I don’t bethink that those can help me.”

Celebrimbor intertwined the fingers of his hands tightly to stop them from reaching for Annatar’s folded ones. He didn't think that he was allowed to touch the Maia, even if he wished dearly to offer him comfort.

“Your wounds - how are they?” Celebrimbor prompted.

“Better.” Annatar looked back to him and smiled weakly. “Now that thou art hither, I feeleth better.”

Celebrimbor’s eyebrows rose. No one had ever said anything of that sort to him and it took him aback, but it also made his heart swell pleasantly.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled. “Can I do anything else for you, besides being here?”

The Maia was silent for a while, looking away almost mournfully…..

“Could thee singan for me?” Annatar asked looking up pleadingly.

“Sing?” Celebrimbor asked, uncertain if he had understood correctly. When Annatar nodded hopefully, the craftsman tried to hide his agitation. From all the things that he could have asked, singing was not something Tyelpe felt confident doing.

“I'm not a very spectacular singer.” He admitted. "Is there something else-"

“I would very much like to heareth thee sing, Celebrimbor.” Annatar insisted and the elf found himself wishing to comply very badly.

“Alright..." The craftsman took a deep breath and then switching to Sindarin, he spoke over his shoulder to the others.

"He’s asking me to sing.” He warned.

"I hope he won't be as much annoyed as amused by your attempts." Celeborn commented and made a show of stuffing his thumbs in his ears. Galadriel's husband had, of course, heard Tyelpe sing. Celebrimbor did enjoy raising his voice when the mood struck him, usually when very wine-soaked.

"If great singing was necessary to greatness, neither of us would have come thus far, my Lord." Celebrimbor teased back.

"Aha." Celeborn scoffed, which was as close to an agreeable laugh as the Lord could give.

“Alright.” Celebirmbor turned to Annatar again, still wincing at the idea of singing, especially in Quenya. The only songs he knew and could sing moderately well were the funny songs, which his uncle Maglor had taught him, despite his father’s pointed irritation. After a few moments, a simple tune came to him from the depths of memory:

“My dear red-top, we all know~” He begun, keeping his voice down, “To whom love you secretly bestow ~ Do not lie, for it’s alright ~ We won’t tell Father where you go at night ~”

Remembering Maglor’s cheerful drunken voice and the teasing notes of his harp, Tyelpe smiled to himself and continued louder, more clearly:

“Oh brother, you don’t have to hide ~ We all know how you wish to ride ~ Into the darkness beneath stars so bright ~ Our sweet cousin with ...”

Annatar made a face and Celebrimbor’s voice trailed off with a tinge of disappointment. He had just been getting to the good part where Maglor would imitate Maedhros’ voice for the elder's indignant response, but apparently his singing had put off the Maia.

“Can thee tryeth a different song?” Annatar asked. “Maybe a song of healing?”

Celebrimbor blinked uncomprehendingly, resisting the urge to glance back to the medic. He didn't want to undermine her art by attempting something like that.

“I’m afraid I don’t know any. I’m not a healer.” He stated carefully.

“But thee said thee art a smith, thee maketh things. Don’t thee knoweth how to repair things too?” Annatar questioned.

“I do, but it’s different to fix inanimate objects to fixing people.” Celebrimbor objected.

“Art thee telling me that thee don’t sing while thee craft?” Annatar looked perplexed.

“I don’t.” Celebrimbor admitted, completely bewildered by the Maia's strange demands.

He had never developed the skill and was not one of those craftsmen who sang as they worked. Curufin had repeatedly discouraged his singing, probably out of fear that Tyelpe might turn out a bard instead of a smith. But the look which Annatar sent him upon hearing his answer made Celebrimbor feel as if he had been found lacking in some way. It drove a nail through his self-esteem, which was largely built upon his skills.

“Should I be able to sing in order to craft?” Celebrimbor prodded testily, barely resisting the urge to snap.

“How else doth thee maketh things?” Annatar inquired innocently.

“With my hands!?” Celebrimbor demanded. “I’m quite good with them, actually.”

“But what of thee voice?” Annatar queried.

“I have a strong voice. I could learn to sing, if I put my time into it.” Celebrimbor claimed in his defence, allowing the volume of his voice to grow and his tones to deepen, in order to demonstrate the power he could muster. “I’m pretty confident that I can become adequate at it.”

“I wilt teachest thee how to sing.” Annatar offered unexpectedly. “And to useth song to craft things that thee cannot imagine.”

Celebrimbor couldn't hide his surprise at the proposal. He had hoped that the Maia wouldn’t just leave once healed, and had already begun to imagine all the things he could show him if Annatar was to visit Ost-in-Edhil even in passing, but to be shown new skills by the unearthly being was beyond his wildest dreams. It was exactly what he wanted, even if he had not allowed himself to hope for it.

“What kinds of things?” He narrowed his eyes, trying to mask his insurmountable interest in the offer.

“Objects of beauty and power.” The Maia promised and Celebrimbor’s eyes widened despite his best attempts of self-control. His heart was beating faster.

“You wish to share knowledge with me?” Celebrimbor enunciated slowly.

“Lest I in thy debt.” Annatar explained. “I would like to repay thee with this art.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Celebrimbor protested, despite wishing to take Annatar up on his offer. “You are not in my debt.”

“Still, I owe thee mine life.” Annatar countered. “I would want to doth this - I think ‘t would be useful to thee.”

Celebrimbor nodded slowly.

“And besides, thy songs doth has't power after all.” Annatar added and smiling, he pushed back the covers, revealing his naked chest and the healing bruises underneath.

The elven smith blinked rapidly as he watched the dark patches slowly diminishing before his very eyes.

“I couldn’t have done this.” Tyelpe protested disbelievingly. “That was no song of healing.”

“Twas not, but the intent wast there, and therefore t hath worked.” The Maia claimed. “Imagine what thee could doth if 't thee kneweth the true words and the true tones.”

Celebrimbor’s breath caught in his chest. The idea was so incredibly appealing, even if it was very unlikely. He wondered if his song had done anything at all, or if Annatar’s mood had improved, triggering the healing of his form, but found himself liking the idea of having fixed the Maia where the healers hadn’t been able to. Even if it was highly improbable, it was a harmless thing to privately believe, so he let himself enjoy it, even just in the privacy of his own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, and that the terrible rhymes didn't make you puke all over your device. They were supposed to be funny, but since I'm not a native speaker, I have no idea what they sound like to you. Same with Annatar's supposed Shakespearean-english dialect - apologies to those whose sensitivities were offended. Please don't take any of my writing seriously :D
> 
> Anyway, your comments are always very welcomed, so let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

Their expedition's return to Ost-in-Edhil was done under the cheerful rays of spring's pale sun. The gentle western wind caressed the city's high towers and glistening stone arches, coaxing fruit-bearing trees into an early bloom and washing the streets with their white and pink petals.

Celebrimbor’s Maia had also flowered like the season around them. His wounds had healed, his skin had gained a healthy radiance and rosiness had filled the soft pads of his lips. His incandescent eyes glittered less like embers and shone more like light pouring through thick honey. His hair was golden like the promise of the summer to come and he smiled and laughed more often.

Despite the changes, Tyelpe had been careful not to make Annatar feel as if he was being taken to Ost-in-Edhil as a prisoner.

“I have guest rooms.” He had said. “You can stay with me for as long as it takes to teach me the workings of songs of power. Or as long as you choose. No one will make you stay longer than you want. That’s a promise.”

“I am in thy… your debt.” Annatar had responded. Even on the road, he was quickly catching up with the dialect of Quenya, which Celebrimbor spoke to him. “I shall- will stayeth as longeth as it doth take.”

“I will stay as long as it takes.” Celebrimbor corrected indulgently.

“Yes.” The Maia nodded gratefully. “As long as it takes. Thank you f'r- for teaching me. I would also like to learneth the language of the oth'rs, or is it others? Others.”

“I will teach you Sindarin.” Tyelpe offered, gratified by the idea. He wished for any excuse to spend more time with Annatar, and language studies was something he enjoyed.

Annatar laughed and nodded, dazzling the elven smith with the brightness of his smile.

All things considered, Celebrimbor was becoming fast friends with the preternatural creature, and as far as new friendships went, this one couldn’t go any better.

…

“This is it.” Tyelpe sighed, stopping before the mid-sized townhouse that was his own.

Their party had dispersed upon the central square of lower Ost-in-Edhil, and after exchanging final words of caution and needless reassurances, Celebrimbor had said farewell to his Lord and Lady and had been allowed to finally drag Annatar away.

Four months away from his city had felt like four years to the smith, and he hadn't summoned the patience to wait for a carriage, instead he had lead his friend on foot, showing Annatar the a bit of the city along the way.

It had been more fun than expected - there were many things in Ost-in-Edhil that Celebrimbor could trace back to his own efforts and projects, so the makeshift tour had given him plenty of opportunity to boast his accomplishments.

When Annatar had started to yawn, Celebrimbor had remembered that the final stretch of their journey had been a long and tiring one. Therefore he had stirred their steps towards his house for some respite and refreshments.

Finally standing outside his home, Tyelpe wondered how it was going to appear to the Maia. So far, Annatar hadn’t shown much reaction besides a look of expectancy.

Clearing his throat, the smith went up the short staircase and pushed opened the front door. Inside, he could hear his only housekeeper, hard at work in warming up the house for it’s owner. Dishes were clinking, heavy wooden furniture was scrapping over the floor…

“Through here.” Tyelpe invited, letting Annatar inside and softly closing the door behind him.

Erutur heard him and came hurrying into the hallway.

“Master Celebrimbor!” He greeted and then paused in surprise, spotting Annatar. “Sir.” He nodded to the Maia.

“It’s good to see you, Erutur.” Tyelpe greeted. “This is Annatar. He will be our guest for some time. Will you prepare one of the guest rooms for him?”

“The nicer one, sir?” Erutur asked carefully.

“Of course, the nicer one!” Celebrimbor laughed, shaking his head.

When the housekeeper hurried to take Tyelpe’s luggage inside and supposedly to air out the guestroom, Tyelpe turned to Annatar who was looking at him questioningly.

“We don’t have many guests.” Celebrimbor smiled ruefully. “That was Erutur, by the way. He’s the real master of the house since he manages everything here. I have little time or mind for housekeeping.”

Annatar nodded thoughtfully.

“I shall be careful not to displease him.” The Maia said, and Celebrimbor couldn’t stifle an undignified snort.

…

After resting and having the evening meal, Tyelpe briefly showed the rest of the rooms to Annatar, skimming over the residential areas, the study, the modest library, and the roof balcony.

The Maia looked particularly unimpressed with Celebrimbor’s skimpy collection of scrolls, and strangely for Tyelpe, it bothered him.

“This is just a small part of what I have.” He said, gesturing to the bookcases. “I keep most of my reading in my workshop, where I will take you first thing tomorrow.”

One of Annatar’s blonde eyebrows twitched up slightly. He seemed amused.

“Well, most of it is technical or books of lore. I don’t read much fiction or prose. It’s just how I am.” Tyelpe added before biting his tongue inside his mouth. He sounded nervous to his own ears.

“If I hadst the time for such things as reading, I believe I would has't been the same way.” Annatar concluded.

“If you had the time?” Tyelpe blurted before quickly regretting it.

Annatar’s expression closed off and his gaze fell to the ground. In Morgoth’s captivity there couldn’t have been many books or free time for Annatar to access.

Celebrimbor cleared his throat.

“You could read anything you want from my collection. That includes the one in my workshop.” He hurried to remedy his misstep, but after a moment the realisation of just what he had promised caught him off guard. His workshop had his most precious possessions and the books and research found there were secrets of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. No outsider was allowed that knowledge, unless they became a part of the brotherhood.

“As long as you always put everything back where you found it.” He added apologetically. “I wouldn’t appreciate anything getting lost.”

“I would strive to observe that rule, if I ever borrow anything from you.” Annatar said and Celebrimbor sighed, reassured.

Why not give his friend access? What harm could it do? Annatar wasn’t the irresponsible kind. And besides, if the Maia was all he had promised to be, Tyelpe was going to see to him joining the Gwaith-i-Mirdain soon enough.

…

It was lunchtime on the next day when they went out, soon after their rather late breakfast. Erutur murmured something about stale pancakes, but Tyelpe paid little heed as he devoured whatever was on his plate and talked to Annatar excitedly about all he was going to see in the workshops of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain.

When finally they were out the front door the sun was as high in the spring sky as it got at that time of the year and the air was warm where it shined over the paved streets of the busy trade center.

Tyelpe lead Annatar through the crowds of merchants and townsfolk and up the winding walks of organically spread streets, which extended like a spiderweb up the hill towards the upper tier of Ost-in-Edhil where the city’s crafts guilds were situated.

“Come this way, I want to show you something!” Tyelpe paused on a whim when they were nearly at the top of the steep climb of the cobblestone street, which lead to his workplace.

He dragged Annatar through a narrow passage between two tall buildings leaning closely together like old friends whispering secrets. At the end of the shadowed alley was a narrow balcony, nestled upon the inner fortifications of the city. Beyond its deep drop was a secret view of Ost-in-Edhil’s western tier and further still leagues of Eregion’s fertile fields and green forests.

One could see the Sirannon and the road beside it, which lead to Khazad-dûm, the stone-carved kingdom of their allies. Celebrimbor said so to Annatar, his hands tracing the river’s passage through the plains in the air before them, while speaking of the gate he had built for Durin and the friends he had made amongst Aule’s folk.

“I wasn’t aware that elves and dwarves had much ingraft.” Annatar observed, sitting on the low stone edge of the terrasse. There was nothing behind his straight back, besides the drop to certain death. Something about that stole Tyelpe’s breath away, despite having dangled his own legs off that same ledge more times than he would have dared to count.

Perhaps it was the Maia’s trust. One shove from the smith and Annatar was going to fly into the chasm and paint the street below with whatever flowed in his preternatural veins. However, Annatar seemed to trust him, and something about that was intoxicating.

“Well, most would agree to that, but I have been accused of being more dwarf-like than elven.” Celebrimbor stated lightly, shaking off the heady feeling in his chest.

Annatar tilted his head to one side. His interest was a cool, strange thing, swirling around the elf like currents of dark, roily water. The silence complied Tyelpe to continue.

“I have been known to obsess over my craft.” He elaborated. “I love the making of things and I have many interests in diverse technical and artistic fields. However, while I pursue certain things ceaselessly, I’ve been known to neglect others.”

He was running out of things to say. He was not prone to talking of himself and had no more words at the ready.

“Ceaselessly.” Annatar repeated slowly, as if testing the word in his mouth.

“Constantly. Without stopping.” Tyelpe hurried to explain, thinking the word foreign to his friend.

“I und'rstood that.” Annatar’s smile was a slow stretch of lips. “I just did like the way you said it.”

“Really?” The smith blinked uncomprehendingly. His friend’s manner was off sometimes.

Annatar was usually sweet or shy, sometimes scared, but from time to time his demeanour would feel awfully deliberate. His unrelenting attention had the power to unnerve and make Celebrimbor’ heart leap and the hairs at the back of his neck stand on ends.

“Why is that?” He asked.

His favorite balcony was hidden from sight and almost perpetually in the building’s shadow, which made it all the better for observing the brightness of the world beyond. But in its shades lingered a nip of winter’s teeth. It made Tyelpe shiver.

“I too have p’rsistence.” The Maia explained, smiling softly. Yet his eyes sparkled with strange, hungry flames. “T’is another thing we have ingraft- in common.”

“Good!” Tyelpe exclaimed, forcing a levity to his movements and voice. His body was fighting him. The unfamiliar chill was numbing and had nothing to do with the lack of sunlight.

“Shall we continue?” Annatar offered and Tyelpe was glad for it.

Leaving that place and it’s seclusion behind brought an unprecedented sense of relief.

…

The Maia and the smith reached the top of the hill where the new headquarters of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain were located. The building was as impressive as it deserved to be. The guilds of Ost-in-Edhil were the main source of the city’s wealth, and amongst them the People of the Jewelsmiths was by far the richest and most prestigious.

Its intricately interwoven iron gates were perpetually opened inwards in those days, hiding their gold-coated splendor in the shadows of the high vaulted hallway beyond. However, Tyelpe didn’t miss the opportunity to direct Annatar’s attention to the masterful craftswork of the smiths of the Mirdain before sweeping him inside.

The forges were overcrowded as always - masters, apprentices, scholars, researchers, emissaries…However Annatar’s presence was so keenly felt that it was impossible to slip by unnoticed. When they entered the buzzing activity of the smitties, most turned their attention to the Maia by Celebrimbor’s side.

“Master Celebrimbor, you are back…” Melimincë, one of his current apprentices spoke, her voice trailing off as she gazed at the stranger next to him.

“Welcome back, my friend!” He was greeted from across the hall by one of his fellow masters, who had once trained under Celebrimbor. Rhossolas was a younger elf of Sindar origin, but he had quickly risen to greatness amongst the typically Noldorin crafts of jewelsmithing and metalwork. Once he reached his old Master’s vicinity, Rhossolas greeted Celebrimbor with a bow and a touch to the heart as was customary of his people.

“It’s good to finally be back.” Celebrimbor smiled, eyes scanning the premises and nodding to friends and colleagues. His grey eyes returned to the Sinda’s blue ones. “The months felt long without sleepless nights of impossible projects and the constant arguing with friends over the best alloys of mithril.”

“I bet!” Rhossolas exclaimed. “I never envied you the honour of escorting our Lords to Oropher’s realm.”

“Oh, don’t encourage me.” Tyelpe shook his head with a guilty smirk.

“You are right - I shouldn’t! Otherwise I won’t hear the end of your complaining!” Rhossolas laughed before he turned his attention to the Maia. “Who is your friend? I don’t believe you’ve announced him yet.”

“This is Annatar.” Celebrimbor said. “He doesn’t speak Sindarin yet, so I will have to do the interpreting.” Switching to Quenya, he continued: “Annatar, this is Master Rhossolas, one of the senior jewellers and smiths of my guild. Like most here he is too young to speak a language as old and unfashionable as Quenya.”

“Please relay to him that t’is my pleasure to meet him.” Annatar said courteously.

“He says hi.” Celebrimbor translated and Rhossolas narrowed his eyes.

“I feel like there is something you are not telling me.” The Sinda said, scratching his pointy chin thoughtfully.

“Fine, his exact words were ‘tell him that it’s my pleasure-’”

“Not that - I figured you were being a lazy interpreter.” Rhossolas interrupted him. “I meant about your friend - I thought he wasn’t an elf and after hearing him speak I am now certain of it. Could it be that the rumors about Lord Celeborn’s and Lady Galadriel’s Maia are true?”

Tyelpe frowned. If Annatar was anybody’s, he definitely wasn’t Celeborn’s or Galadriel’s.

“Yes, Annatar is the Maia we encountered in the Misty Mountains, that much is true.” Celebrimbor admitted and at the sound of Rhossolas drawing in a long, gasping breath, hurried to continue, “And he’s here because he’s a craftsman like us and he’s agreed to teach me some of his skills.”

Rhossolas was blinking at him rapidly.

“Celebrimbor…” He said his name like a cautionary tale. Tyelpe’s frown deepened. Whatever reaction he had expected, it was not this wariness. Looking around he noticed that others were listening to their conversation as well and several of the other Masters had approached.

“I heard that Lord Celeborn hasn’t held council over the issue of that Maia’s stay yet.” Master Lumornor joined the conversation. His father was Avari and although he was raised in the customs of the Sindar like his Sindar mother, in built and appearance he took after his father’s people.

“Lord Celeborn’s council will decide whether Annatar will be given free leave within the city’s walls.” Celebrimbor opposed. “However, the Lord has already allowed him to stay with me and to be where I accompany him.”

“And you thought to bring him here.” Lumornor accused quietly.

The Gwait-i-Mirdain was more than a brotherhood of craftsmen - together they discovered and shared new knowledge and the secrets of their craft were jealously kept. And as one of the main sources of the city’s wealth, the guild was carefully guarded by the city’s forces and no casual onlookers were allowed inside.

“The Gwaith-i-Mirdain is my home first and foremost.” Tyelpe stood his ground. “You know as well as anyone here that the house I keep is only for appearances.”

That elicited a few good-natured laughs. Celebrimbor was well liked amongst his colleagues and the craftsmen of the city. They all shared a passion for creation that kept them away from home and hearth, making their friendships closer than the bonds of some spouses.

“I doubt this is what our Lord meant when he allowed you to keep the Maia in your home.” Lumornor conceded.

“He didn’t specify which home.” Celebrimbor winked and it dispelled the tension slightly. “Besides, I’m merely showing Annatar around. I hope no one here is too shy to get their work seen and judged by one of the holy ones.”

A few of the apprentices and journeymen cringed. One in particular and Tyelpe didn’t miss the opportunity to call him out.

“Don’t worry, Finnorion, I’m not taking Annatar anywhere near your workdesk.” He teased, making the young elf blush darkly.

“You’re such an ass!” The boy grumbled, sighing in self-defeat and throwing his tools on the bench.

There was something about the constant banter and name-calling that made the smitties of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain feel like his true home and Tyelpe felt himself smile. Taking Annatar’s elbow, he lead the Maia away from the curious gazes of the crowd, towards a corridor, which lead to the Master’s private workshops. Rhossolas’s ash-blond head and Lumornor’s curly dark one followed them, keeping a step behind as Celebrimbor once again switched to Quenya.

“It seems like we won’t be allowed to get any work done today.” He admitted to Annatar. “Let me at least show you my workshop.”

“Why are you speaking in Quenya?” Lumornor questioned.

“Annatar doesn’t speak Sindarin.” Rhossolas answered helpfully.

“Thank you for using his name, Rhosso.” Tyelpe called behind his shoulder. “You are one of the few.”

“No problem.” Rhossolas answered. “But don’t get me wrong - I share Lumornor’s concern.”

Celebrimbor paused, tugging on Annatar’s arm to bring him to a stop and turned to face his friends.

“If Lord Celeborn finds out that you’ve let this still-unknown-force into the forges, in the Gwaith-i-Mirdain in general, he would not be pleased.” The Sinda explained. “I’m concerned what he’d do with you.”

“Don’t worry so much.” Tyelpe waved the other Master’s concern away easily. “Don’t forget I’m a kinsman to his wife. Celeborn wouldn't expel me from the city nor punish me in any way.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Lumornor disagreed.

“The Gwaith-i-Mirdain wouldn’t allow anything to happen to its unofficial leader.” Another voice joined in.

The group of elves and the Maia turned and saw another Noldo approaching. His name was Tussambo and he was one of the founders of the Mirdain alongside Celebrimbor. They had worked and traveled together since the first age, after they had met in Balar.

Tussambo was older than Celebrimbor and quite protective of the younger Noldo. He had accepted Tyelpe into his forge when Celebrimbor had been but a refugee from the destruction of Nargothrond, and the renounced descendant of a line, which many had reasons to despise.

Up to that day, Tussambo remained one of Celebrimbor’s most steady supporters and although he spent less and less time in the workshops, favoriting Ost-in-Edhil’s libraries instead, he was still an active member of the Mirdain’s community.

The sight of him made Celebrimbor grin gladly.

“Tussambo, I’d like to introduce you to Annatar.” He said in Quenya, ignoring  
Rhossolas and Lumornor’s frowning faces. “Annatar, this is my old friend Tussambo.”

“Annatar- an odd name.” Tussambo said upon greeting the Maia with the customary bow. “From what I heard you did not come as a Lord, nor did you have anything to give when our people found you possessionless and clad in shadow upon a mountain side.”

Tussambo’s tone was pleasant and his manner formal, however his cutting words surprised the younger Noldo. The fact that his friend knew of the story of Annatar’s discovery did not - Tussambo held a high position in Celeborn’s court. It wasn’t strange that he was briefed on the circumstances of Annatar’s stay already.

“I have many gifts to bestow, to those whom are willing to receive them.” Annatar responded politely and Tyelpe felt a spike of anger arise within him at the injustice. Annatar had been nothing but courteous to everyone, however everywhere they went, he was met with suspicion or worse.

The way Annatar bowed his golden head demurely made Celebrimbor ache to say something in his defence, but he respected the older elf too much to disagree with him publically.

“Huh.” Tussambo made a pensive noise before turning to Tyelpe, still speaking in Quenya, which the other elves in the hallway could not understand. “You are taking a risk by bringing him here, Tyelpe.”

Celebrimbor didn’t look at Annatar to see his reaction, he didn’t relish the idea of his friend realising just how unwanted and feared he was by the elves in Ost-in-Edhil.

“I don’t fear Celeborn’s wrath.” The smith said keeping his voice low.

“I don’t fear him either.” Tussambo shrugged but the brief smile, which accompanied it didn’t last. “But trully, do you think it’s safe to bring a Maia, who admitted to having served the Enemy, into the heart of our institute?”

“I am not a spy.” Annatar interrupted, making Tyelpe look at him. “Even if you don’t believe me, know that there is no one for me to spy for - the foe was removed from this w’rld. I am on mine own now.”

He was strong, Celebrimbor realised, but that show of courage was hiding a deeper truth - Annatar was alone. It made Tyelpe wish to defend him even more.

“And why should we need Him for you to be dangerous?” Tussambo disagreed. “Not all of Morgoth’s creatures were accounted for. Which one are you?”

Annatar’s face crumbled and Tyelpe jumped into action.

“The council will decide whether Annatar will be allowed amongst us in full.” He insisted. “Please, Tussambo, save your suspicions for that hearing. There is no need to sour this morning any further.”

Those words gave his friend pause and he considered them before his stern expression crumbled to an easy smile.

“Oh, Tyelpe, absent as ever!” He laughed. “If you think it’s still morning, then I’m guessing you haven’t even bothered to take Annatar to lunch yet! I shall have to remedy that -”

He turned to the others and spoke in Sindarin:

“How about we take Celebrimbor to that new inn in the second tier! I’m dying for that dwarven ale and I wouldn't mind a snack as well!”

At the mention of inns and ale, Rhossolas responded with the typical Sindar enthusiasm for booze, and even grim Lumornor smiled.

“It’s decided then!” Tussambo said, wrapping an arm around Celebrimbor’s shoulders and stirring the taller elf away from his destination to the workshops. “To the ale! Teach the Maia this very important word, Tyelpe!”

“Ale!” Rhossolas chimed in perfect Quenya, possibly the only word he knew in that language.

Celebrimbor glanced at the Maia and found that contrary to his expectation there was a soft smile on Annatar’s exquisite features.

“Ale t’is, then.” The Maia murmured and the low dip of his voice caressed Celebrimbor’s ears like a lover’s kiss.

The smith swallowed thickly. Ale then.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was longer than I expected. I hope you liked it! Don't get frightened by the amount of OCs - I strive not to let them distract from the main pairing. They are little more than plot devices, (lol, sorry OCs.) Do let me know your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

That afternoon in the dwarven inn their little group encountered even more familiar faces. Tyelpe made an effort not to get too merry, regardless of his friends’ unsubtle attempts to loosen his tongue with booze.

“So, what was Greenwood like? Do they still live between the trees like wild creatures?” Someone would ask.

“I heard Oropher’s son is very comely. Is it true what they say about him?” Another elf would demand.

“What did you do there anyway? Your must have been rusting from boredom…”

Tyelpe tried to answer the myriad of questions as lightly as he could, avoiding any sensitive topics or getting entangled in arguments regarding politics. He recalled short anecdotes of his stay in the woodland realm, quipped about the Silvan’s strange ways, made a few good-natured jokes about their lord Celeborn, but his mind kept wondering back to the Maia, who sat quietly by his side. Despite not speaking the language, Annatar seemed to absorb everything else around them. His gold eyes calmly slid over the busy pub, observing the diverse chattering folk of Ost-in-Edhil.

Many of the patrons were dwarves from Moria and the Blue mountains, coming to the elven city to trade or stopping by on the long road between their distant kingdoms. There were also menfolk and elves from all over Eregion, and a few travelers from lands further still, notable by their foreign features and attire. Truly, Ost-in-Edhil was opened to all who had pure intentions and Celebrimbor took pride in the city's diversity.

The conversations kept rolling and his fellow smiths kept buying Celebrimbor more drinks, which he watered down whenever he could get away with it, or passed to Annatar, who drank little - only polite sips after risings of glasses in cheers along with the others.

Tyelpe wondered if his guest felt comfortable and made numerous attempts to include him in the conversation by interpreting between him and his colleagues. It didn’t work out very well, especially since the company became merrier the more they drunk and soon the other elves were speaking one over the other.

Tyelpe felt that he had burdened Annatar enough by making him endure the gathering, so ruefully he announced their intention to depart. His friends grumbled in displeasure.

“But it’s not even sundown! You don't have a spouse who would nag if you don’t go home early!” Rhossolas insisted.

“You have absolutely no excuse to abandon us so soon, Celebrimbor!” Another smith agreed, blocking Tyelpe’s route. “Stay and be merry with us!”

“I really have a lot to get to, my friends.” Tyelpe shook his head, pushing his way between his colleagues. Annatar was right behind him, following him like a shadow amongst the other folk.

Unfortunately, one of the more drunken smiths got a little carried away in his entusiasm to prevent his friend from leaving. He threw himself at Tyelpe, trying to playfully restrain him, and pushing the feanorian back towards their company's table.

“No, Borphen, I said I need to go-” Celebrimbor protested and only half-heartedly attempted to fight the other elf’s grasp.

Out of the blue and as fast as lighting, Annatar interviened. The Maia knocked several elves to the ground on his way to snatch Borphen by the throat and haul him away from Celebrimbor. The elves, who ended up on the floor moaned and looked around, wondering what hit them, and Tyelpe was so shocked by the manoeuvre that he barely reacted in the the first second as he watched Annatar lifting his colleague off his feet. Borphen was choking and the skin around the hold of Annatar’s fingers hissed. He keened in pain. 

“Annatar, release him!” Celebrimbor cried as soon as he came back to his senses and recklessly tried to pry the Maia’s deceptively elegant hand from Borphen’s throat. Around them the other smiths were recuperating as well - letting out various cries of alarm and warning. None dared to approach.

Thankfully, after Tyelpe’s command, Annatar promptly dropped the unfortunate smith, who landed on shaky feet.

“Whaa… Stay away from me!” Borphen coughed out and cowered back into a nearby table, knocking off another patron’s drinks.

“Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!*” A rowdy dwarf shouted, his bushy beard now frothed with beer-foam.

Amidst the screams and cursing that followed, Tyelpe turned to the Maia.

“Why did you do that for?!” He shouted in Quenya, regretting it as soon as Annatar flinched.

“I’m sorry.” Annatar’s eyes were wide. “Lest he be hurting you. I’m sorry, Celebrimbor!”

Tyelpe blinked, taken aback. He had no time to analyse the Maia’s strange words, when a full-blown strife between elves and dwarves erupted in the bar.

 _‘So much for the legendary tolerance of Ost-in-Edhil.’_ Tyelpe thought as he stepped in, apologising to the offended dwarf and his mates in their own language. His intervention and repeated blessings of their beards staved off the argument, as did his offer to buy them another round of drinks.

When he had settled that fight, Celebrimbor turned back to his own group of friends and found Tussambo tending to Borphen, who was sitting on a stool and leaning his back heavily on the wall. Tussambo had opened his tunic, exposing the neck and collar. Everyone could see burns in the shape of Annatar’s slender fingers sprawled over the smith's neck. The sight alone was enough to give Tyelpe chills.

“What the hell was that?! He’s dangerous!” Lumornor confronted him.

He was the only one to speak, but all his colleagues looked angry or wary. Celebrimbor wished that he couldn’t understand the barely hidden fear in their eyes.

“I thought you were supposed to control him, Celebrimbor!” Borphen groaned, rolling his eyes towards the feanorian.

Tyelpe felt guilt and shame warring in his heart. It was his fault - Annatar was so new to everything outside of the world of violence and captivity he had known as Morgoth’s slave. Celebrimbor had made a mistake to dragging him into a bar full of drunk people. There were just so many things that could have went wrong - And something had gone wrong.

“He apologised, Borphen.” Tyelpe tried to disperse the tension and shift the blame away from his guest. “He didn’t know what he was doing- He’s been traumatised.”

“I think it’s best if you take Annatar away now.” Tussambo said calmly, looking up from his task of peppering Borphen’s burns with baking soda, which he had procured from the bar's kitchen. It was fortunate that the older Noldo had spent so many years in a forge and knew how to handle burns in any situation.

“Please accept our mutual apologies, Borphen.” Tyelpe turned to the injured elf. "This was my fault more than it was Annatar's."

“It was an accident.” Tussambo amended, running his hand up and down Borphen's arm. “He apologised, right?”

Borphen cast Annatar another scornful look and then glanced at Celebrimbor almost ruefully before nodding his acceptance. Tyelpe didn't feel much better, but he gave a parting nod to everyone and turned to lead Annatar away.

He saw the Maia standing in the middle of the the floor like an island of radiance surrounded by the dull, unconcerned pub clientele. His amber eyes met Tyelpe’s as if he had been waiting for the smith all the while.

...

Contrary to what his friends had claimed, the streets were already darkening after the early sunset of a short spring day. Once outside Tyelpe soundlessly sighed, trying to be as discrete about his distress as possible. He didn’t wish to make Annatar feel worse for what had happened. It had clearly been Celebrimbor’s misjudgement.

Resolved to make it up to his new friend, Tyelpe offered Annatar his arm and waited for the Maia to wrap his own around it, before they took a brisk walk towards the residential quarters.

The Maia was silent, offering no more words, no apologies nor justifications. Instead he let himself be stirred down the winding roads, matching Celebrimbor's quick footfall.

“Do you like sweets?” Celebrimbor asked along the way. They were passing one of the city’s best bakeries and the smith was thinking that something sweet could fix the tense mood.

“I…” Annatar was puzzled, and in his hesitation almost childlike, as if this question was new to him, a notion he had never considered. He regained his balance almost immediately and responded: “I suppose I’m impartial to sweet food.”

“Oh.” Tyelpe shrugged. “Is there any particular thing that you are partial to?”

“Are you still asking about food?” The Maia’s voice lowered with the question. Tyelpe wondered if that was a teasing note in it. It sounded almost like a darker emotion, derision perhaps. But what cause would Annatar have for that? No, the elf decided, his friend was asking a genuine question.

“Yes. What else would I be asking about?” Tyelpe frowned.

Annatar didn’t answer his last question. Instead he assured Tyelpe that he didn’t care overly much about what he ate.

“I don’t need sustenance the same way you do.” The Maia confided. “I draw energy from the fabric of reality itself.” He explained and the smith barely managed to keep himself in check enough to remember to close his gaping mouth. The statement sounded terribly overblown and presumptuous, however Tyelpe was particularly susceptible to the impossible and such talk excited him.

“Will you tell me how you do that?” Celebrimbor asked, making a valiant attempt to control his curiosity.

Annatar side-eyed him with a little smile. The silence stretched and the elf thought that it meant a rejection. They kept walking with their arms interlocked like old friends, and after a while Annatar finally answered:

“In a way I will. I will teach you how to use the same energy through the power of Song.” The Maia divulged.

“But not how to feed from it, as you do?” Tyelpe decided to push his luck, grinning a little from excitement.

“What do you think would happen if that level of power enters your fragile body?” Annatar stopped and stared at him in all seriousness. “A direct link between your flesh and the energies of reality would detonate you like sodium in chlorine.”

Celebrimbor listened raptly, gazing at his friend hungrily as he asked:

“So is making objects of great beauty and power, as you called them, the way for a being, such as myself, to harness this energy? Is that why you will teach me the art of putting Song into my creations?”

Annatar’s smile formed lazily on his lips, but the glint of pleasure in his eyes was unmissable.

“Yes.” He murmured simply.

They stood staring at each other for a moment too long before Tyelpe realised that they were under his home’s front door shelter.

Clearing his throat, Celebrimbor hurried to open the door and let his guest inside. The elf didn’t remember their walk at all. All he could recall were Annatar’s eyes, Annatar’s words. He felt oddly giddy and shaky as he closed the door to the night and unclasped his cloak absently.

Annatar shuffled in the compact space of the narrow foyer, his cape brushed Tyelpe’s robes as it came off. The accidental touch made the smith acutely aware of the Maia’s closeness and he was glad that he was facing the hangers when his sides began heating up. Celebrimbor decided that he wasn’t blushing - it was simply the warmth of the house after walking outside. Maybe even the drinks from earlier.

Annatar reached over to hang his cloak next to the elf’s and Celebrimbor’s heart gave a hard throb as the Maia's arm stretched over his shoulder. Tyelpe reminded himself to breathe and forced himself to release a gasp, which had become caught in his chest. Suddenly he felt very reluctant to glance anywhere near Annatar.

“I’ll go see Erutur about our dinner.” The craftsman said to justify his retreat and went further into the house.

...

When Celebrimbor gathered the courage to look for him again, he found Annatar in the library. The Maia was not touching the books, simply running his brilliant gaze over their titles. Tyelpe paused by the doorframe to observe him for a moment, letting his eyes stray to take in the whole of him.

Annatar was tall and lean, and his blonde hair was not like the gold or silver shades common for light-haired elves, or the straw, ashen locks of blonde menfolk. Tyelpe had seen the radiant colour of the Maia’s hair many times in his life, but it had always been in the forge - in the brightest yellow heart of fire, never on the head of a person.

Annatar turned and Tyepe’s breath hitched when he realised that he had being caught staring.

“Are you looking for works in Quenya? I can recommend a few.” The elf recovered rather smoothly, according to his own estimation. He sauntered over to the Maia and leaned his side on the shelves.

“I was hoping to find something that could help me learn Sindarin.” The Maia explained.

“Do you want to begin those lessons already?” Tyelpe felt a little disappointed that his new friend hadn’t asked him outright about that. “I will purchase a primar tomorrow. But if you want to begin tonight, we can make do without one.”

“I would like that very much.” Annatar smiled politely and the elf couldn’t help but return it. “Is it too much to ask to start immediately?”

“Not at all.” Tyelpe shook his head and gestured to the desk. “We have about an hour until dinner. Let’s see… where do we begin? The alphabet maybe?”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this update! Let me know your thoughts :D
> 
> *Ishkhaqwi ai durugnulis is a dwarvish insult - Gimli used in LOTR. Not sure exactly what it means, but it's not flattering :D


	5. Chapter 5

After only a few hours of teaching Sindarin to the Maia it became quite clear that a primer wasn’t going to be necessary. Annatar simply inhaled the language, learning from every word that Tyelpe spoke.

They paused the lesson for dinner and then returned to the the smith’s modest library. After a while Celebrimbor found himself drifting, the consumed wine making him drowsy while the Maia quietly read on the comfy armchair to his left.

Annatar’s questions regarding words and tenses had become scarce, and the elf wondered absently what a Maia, who could learn a language in a night could do. What secret knowledge someone like Annatar could teach?

Caught on the verge of pleasant dreams of being in his workshop with Annatar and explaining his discoveries and techniques to his new friend, the unpleasant feeling of dryness in his mouth pulled him back to reality. The dehydrating effect of alcohol, no doubt, but the discomfort was not one he could ignore, unless he wanted to feel the full weight of his centuries in the morning.

Stretching as subtly as he could, in order not to attract attention to the fact that he had nearly fallen asleep, the smith got up from his chair and went to the kitchen to retrieve some water. As he moved through the empty chambers, he noticed that Erutur had went home. Glancing at the moon from an arched window, Tyelpe estimated that the hours had rolled by and it was well past midnight.

Yawning softly, he filled a pitcher and collected two cups before heading back to the library, where Annatar still had his eyes glued to texts he was studying.

The book in his hands was quickly being devoured, pages turning rapidly by the Maia's long fingers. A pile of tomes had formed by Annatar’s chair and as Celebrimbor set the water on the small table between them, the Maia closed yet another tome and placed it on top of the growing tower at his side.

“Have you had enough for tonight or do you want to continue?” The elf asked when Annatar rose from his armchair and approached the bookcase once more where the gaps he had left in the shelves were gaping like missing teeth.  

“Do you want to stop?” Annatar asked and Tyelpe smiled.

“No.” The smith shook his head. “We can keep going all night, if you wish. Although you hardly need me anymore. How come you learn languages so quickly?”

“Remembering is arguably the most important step of learning.” The Maia divulged, and when Celebrimbor’s eyebrows quirked up, Annatar elaborated, “I never forget a thing I learn, whereas your memory needs constant renewing. That's why it takes so long to learn new things for incarnate creatures.”

“You know how our memory works?” The elf challenged with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.” Annatar’s smile was a small, but knowing thing.

“How?” Tyelpe leaned forward over the armrest of his chair.

“Like a child trying to write verses on the sea shore. Your main problem are the waves.”

Celebrimbor laughed.

“There are no sea nor sand in our heads.” He observed.

“It’s just a metaphor.” The Maia said coming to stand by the vacated chair, but making no move to sit in it.

“I prefer facts to poetry.” Tyelpe pointed out, his curiosity having driven away the last shreds of drowsiness from his head. He remembered that his mouth was still dry and drowned his cup quickly before refilling it and gesturing to his friend to drink as well. Annatar didn’t reach for the offered glass.

“I can see you thirst for knowledge, Celebrimbor.” The Maia uttered in a softer voice, one meant for confessions and promises. Its low resonance made Celebrimbor’s eyes instinctively dart around the empty house. There was no one there to overhear their conversations, however Annatar did not raise his voice, kept uttering words as if they were secrets. “You could be my student and I could show you so much.”

Celebrimbor rose from his chair as well, stopped just a step before the Maia, leaning in to better hear the words that came from Annatar’s rosy lips.

“You speak with regret, as if this could not happen.” He pointed out carefully.

“I don’t believe I would be allowed to stay here much longer.” Annatar sighed, and his eyes were a dark, burnished gold in the lamplight. “It’s folly to start that which cannot be finished. I wish that things could have been different.”

“They are different!” The smith disagreed, taking the Maia’s hands in his own in a move so bold, he surprised even himself. He felt Annatar’s flinch and saw his shoulders tense, his eyes turning slightly wary. “You will be allowed to stay here for as long as you want. I will make sure of that.”

Annatar pulled his hands out of the elf’s grasp and turned away.

“I would get you in trouble.” He sighed mournfully and Celebrimbor put a hand on his shoulder, careful to keep his touch light.

“You won’t. You shouldn’t worry about any of this.” He reassured softly.

“And your Lord's council? Your friends spoke of it today-”

“They forget sometimes that I'm a member of Celeborn's council and have more influence there than I care about.” Tyelpe assessed. “Many of its members owe me favours or are careful not to displease me, because they plan to ask one of me. You will remain, if I will it.”

Annatar was once again on the move. Celebrimbor forced himself to remain still as the Maia slowly stalked around him. A whisper of clothes was all that gave away the being’s presence just behind the elf's left shoulder. The closeness made Celebrimbor’s backbone shiver. He held his breath.

“Why would you do so much for me?” Annatar asked and the air of his exhalation blew the loose hairs of Tyelpe’s braid, tickling the elf’s neck. His ear twitched and his cheeks warmed up, but he resolved to ignore the signals of his body as he turned to meet the Maia’s scrutinising stare.

“Don’t you want to remain here?” He answered with a question of his own.

“Is this about what I want?” Annatar’s voice dipped even lower and Celebrimbor’s heart did a funny thing in his chest.

He pivoted on his heel, coming to face the Maia fully.

“I’m not going to deny that I want what you promise.” He murmured.

Annatar took a step closer until he was scant inches away. Celebrimbor fought the urge to react - a step back would have been a retreat, as for reaching forward - unthinkable.

“You _are_ planning to deliver?” He raised an eyebrow with humour, which he did not feel, if only because Annatar didn’t answer and the silence had begun to stretch.

The smirk that earned him was an odd expression on the usually sweet and demure Maia.

“Get me into the Gwaith-i-Mirdain and I’ll give you everything that you desire and more.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes widened before he could reign in his expression. He hid his nervousness with a laugh and a pat to Annatar’s shoulder before turning away.

“I will see what I can do.” He dismissed, but his heart kept beating fast.

He begun putting away the books, which Annatar had discarded, if only to occupy himself with anything other than the alluring Maia and the words that sounded like flirtation to his ears. After all, someone like Annatar couldn’t possibly mean them in that way. The poor thing had crept out of a hole not that long ago and knew next to nothing about elven etiquette and the things one should or shouldn’t say.

“I think I have a few more volumes upstairs in my chambers.” His spoke, feeling the weight of Annatar's eyes on the back of his head. When he glanced back, he found the Maia still standing exactly where he had left him. “I’m going to go fetch them for you.”

Annatar nodded and Tyelpe run up the stairs with light steps. He left the door to his chamber ajar to allow some of the illumination of the corridor to enter, so that he wouldn’t need to light lamps inside the room. The sliver of light fell right on the narrow bookcase, which he kept in his bedroom, so it wasn’t difficult to skim through the titles in the half-light.

A shadow fell across him and he lifted his gaze to the door. Annatar was waiting in the corridor. Tyelpe realised that he had sat on the floor and had been carding through the Noldolante for a long while, debating with himself whether or not to give that particular scroll to his guest.

“Come in.” He invited absently, pushing himself off the floor and dusting his knees. The Noldolante he tucked back into the shelves, before bending to pick up the books he had selected for Annatar.

His friend had entered his bedroom and was looking around. Tyelpe hadn’t included his private rooms in the house tour the day before, because he couldn't have imagined any scenario in which Annatar would have any business in his bedchamber.

“These are for you.” He said, dumping the pile of books into the Maia’s arms. Annatar maintained eye contact through the exchange.

For some reason, Tyelpe was slow to step back, and reluctant to look away, and yet it still surprised him when Annatar lifted one hand to his cheek and leaned in to kiss his lips. Celebrimbor’s breath stuttered as if he’d been punched in the gut. His blood left his head and plummeted lower with such force that it made him reel. He caught the Maia’s shoulders before he could falter and let himself kiss back for a second or two before sharply he pulled away.

“Annatar.” He warned, backing away while Annatar followed him step for step. “What are you doing?”

He stumbled on an armchair and neatly fell into it. Annatar slid to his knees in front of him with such  sinuous ease, one would have thought it had been rehearsed. He laid the pile of books on the floor with care and met Celebrimbor's startled gaze.

“Thanking you.” Annatar said and his hands settled on the elf’s knees.

Tyelpe’s throat went dry and he gaped as the Maia’s hands wordlessly snaked their way up his thighs until they converged over the swell between his legs.

The elf let out a surprised exhale, which sounded too much like a moan to his own ears, and his legs spread a little wider regardless of his speechless mortification. Annatar’s hands were skillful in their ministration, palming and massaging through the cotton of his breeches, effortlessly eliciting a reaction.

"This isn't how you should thank me...” Celebrimbor forced past his uncooperative lips and snatched one of Annatar’s wrists, while his other hand fisted the arm of his chair so hard, his nails were sure to leave marks on the wood.

“Is it not?” Annatar purred, working the lacings of the smith’s pants with just one hand and no visible hindrance. He sounded way too smug to be completely innocent of what he was doing.

Laces undone, his hardening organ was eased out and Annatar’s free hand wrapped around it, pumping with sure, steady strokes. Tyelpe threw his head back and choked on a wail. He could see stars behind the tightly clenched lids of his eyes and his spine and hips rolled on their own, caught between the instinct to escape or press harder into the Maia’s grip.

“Don’t do that-” He gasped, but couldn’t manage a more convincing rebuke. The hand that he still held was now used to push him back into the chair, keeping him as immobile as possible while he wriggled with pleasure too intense to contain.

“But you like it.” The Maia coed, and Tyelpe hadn’t known that he could ever be rendered so senseless that he wouldn't be able to master any response at all.

 _‘This is wrong’_ , he thought as the first burning flashes of his orgasm hit and his body seized up, every muscle tensing for its release. He cried out and his eyelashes fluttered as the waves of ecstasy shook him. Even in the incoherent haze that raged within him, Celebrimbor noted that there was something awry with the way Annatar watched him so cooly, eyes calm and without even a suggestion of lust in their golden debts.

When he finally caught his breath and his own shameful moans had subsided, Annatar rose to his feet and leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his sweat-damp forehead.

“Thank you, Tyelpe.” He murmured and Celebrimbor’s insides clenched in one final, powerful orgasmic spasm, making him moan despite himself.

He didn’t need to ask how Annatar had picked up that moniker. The Maia was clever and nothing seemed to escape him.

Finally Annatar was peeling away, giving him relative privacy to even out his still labouring breaths. Once he had regained his wits, Celebrimbor was immediately assaulted by crushing shame and hurried to right his clothes. He ran a hand over his face, as if that could wipe away his mortification. His throat worked but he couldn’t summon anything to say.

What on Arda had he done?! He knew he should have refused the Maia more firmly. Annatar couldn’t possibly understand the implications of his actions. The fact that he was not ignorant to what gave elves pleasure wasn’t that strange and still Tyelpe couldn’t help but feel as if he had somehow taken advantage of the being's innocence. The idea made him sick.

Thankfully Annatar had already gathered the books and was closing the door behind him as he left the room. In the darkness that remained there was only the emptiness of his chambers and himself, feeling cold and confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should surprise handjob be a tag? Maybe not, otherwise it wouldn't be all that surprising :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor tries to get an old friend's support on having Annatar stay in Ost-in-Edhil.

It wasn’t difficult to gain his supporters’ favour on the argument about the Maia’s stay in Ost-in-Edhil. All were easily swayed by his logic and reasoning, except one.

“I don’t like the look in your eyes, Tyelpe.” Tussambo shook his head, causing the younger Noldo to frown. “I have seen it before, and it doesn’t bode well, not for you, not for anyone.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes lifted uneasily to the forged steel Feanorian star, which hung over the mantelpiece in the older smith’s parlour. It was a rainy evening when he visited his old friend in the townhouse where Tussambo lived alone, much like Celebrimbor himself.

“Have I ever done something to earn your distrust?” Celebrimbor asked, meeting Tussambo’s pale eyes with dismay.

“You haven’t.” Tussambo answered calmly.

“Then why do you oppose me in this matter?!” Celebrimbor barely resisted the urge to shout and bang his fist on the table top. Once again his eyes glanced to the unforgiving angles of his grandfather’s star and he reigned himself.

When he looked at his old friend, he found Tussambo’s gaze equally lifted to the Feanorian star hanging above them. There was a far away look in the pale grey depths of his eyes.

The silence continued and Celebrimbor had to grind his teeth to endure it.

Finally the older elf looked back at him, his eyes patient on the surface, but piercing as they lingered on Celebrimbor. The younger smith stared back unflinchingly under the other’s scruinity. Tussambo was ancient and at times his eyes burned almost unbearably with knowledge and memory of ages pass and a different world, but so was Celebrimbor, and although he had but seen the very end of the Years of the Trees, he had lived through the First Age and had come out formidable in his own way. As for the heat of the blood of the Spirit of Fire, which still ran in his veins, it gave Celebrimbor the power to burn and annihilate with his will alone, but he never chose to wield that terrible potential. Celebrimbor always strove to be milder, kinder, different from his kin. But he had never been so reluctant to give up on his own wishes before, and when he looked back at Tussambo, the older elf had to look away.

“I am afraid for you, Tyelpe.” The older smith said and sensing his retreat, Celebrimbor exhaled a silent sigh of relief.

“Don’t be. I have this under control.” Celebrimbor rose to his feet and approached his old friend, putting a steadying hand on the other smith’s shoulder.

Tussambo’s eyes remained averted and his shoulders softened beneath Celebrimbor’s touch. After a moment of a hesitation, he lifted his own hand to cover Celebrimbor’s and glanced up ruefully at the feanorian, who stood over him.

“Your mind is set and nothing can divert you from this,” Tussambo said quietly, “least of all silly old Tussambo.”

“Don’t speak thus.” Celebrimbor reprimanded gently and knelt beside the older smith’s chair. “I value your council and your opinion. You have been my friend for longer than any other. But you have to trust me in this - I know what I’m doing.”

Tussambo laughed unhappily, still shying from meeting his eyes.

“Tussambo?” Celebrimbor’s fingers tightened on his old friend’s shoulder, worry creeping into his voice as he glimpsed the sparkle of unshed tears in the older elf’s eyes. He tried to gently guide his friend around to face him but Tussambo shook his head and resolutely looked away.

“What’s wrong?” Celebrimbor asked as softly as he could.

“I can’t - I’m sorry.” Tussambo ran a hand through his dark hair carelessly, messing up the clips that held it out of his face. “I can’t even look at you now, Tyelpe. In this you look-”

Celebrimbor retracted his hand from Tussambo’s shoulder, stricken by his friend’s sudden outburst.

“You look so much _like him_.” Tussambo finished at last, and he pressed his brow against his first, turning away guiltily, just as Celebrimbor rose and backed away as one hit.

In the silence between them, the only thing that could be heard was the loudness of their breathing. One clipped, anguished and ashamed, and the other forcedly even and controlled.

“I don’t want to see you walking on the same path that destroyed _your_ -” Tussambo tried when he finally gathered himself enough to talk, but Celebrimbor used the moment of hesitation to speak:

“I am not.” He said, and his voice did not waiver. It was calm and deep, and by all means gentle, as if no insult had been given, no unspoken line had been crossed.

“I am not my father.” Celebrimbor continued evenly after another steady breath. His body purposefully facing away from the Feanorian star on the wall, keeping it from the periphery of his sight. “I am not my grandfather. Their mistakes are not my own.”

Tussambo nodded with an air of defeat. Finally he wiped the remains of tears from his eyes and rose to his feet, a little waveringly. However, the hand that he clasped over Celebrimbor’s shoulder was a solid, and certain one.

“Forgive me.” He said at last. “But I cannot give you my approval for Annatar’s stay.”

Celebrimbor’s mouth dropped in disbelief.

“I love you too dearly for that.” Tussambo said, still not meeting his eyes. “Hate me if you must.”

“Tussambo!” Celebrimbor protested in outrage, his hands fisting in the older elf’s tunic, a little threateningly, but he managed to hold himself back from shaking the smaller elf.

“I said, hate me if you must!” Tussambo shook his head but his fingers were careful when they pried Celebrimbor’s hands off his tunic. The younger smith allowed himself to be pushed way.

“Is this because of the incident in the pub?” Celebrimbor asked even as his old friend turned his back to him and walked to the closed window, looking out through the raindrops that hit its coloured glass.

“You know what it’s about.” Came the hushed answer.

“If it’s about my grandfather, whom you followed -” Celebrimbor begun and suddenly there was not enough air in his lungs, but he pushed on, despite the hurt of the words that followed: “-whose madness still haunts you and the guilt and fear you still carry, then answer me this - why do you punish me for it now?”

“I don’t hold you accountable for my choices, Celebrimbor, nor for your kin’s.” Tussambo turned and pressed his back against the window. “I told you that all those years ago, when you stood before me, so young and lost and without anywhere to go, and you still asked me - why would I give you, a feanorian, a chance. Well, my answer remains the same - I do not hold you accountable for any of it. This is not a punishment I’m dealing out.”

Celebrimbor took a deep, steadying breath through the nose, refusing to show the relief that those words brought him, but even that respite was short lived.

“I fear for you now.” Tussambo continued. “The same blood runs in your veins, and with it, the same weakness*. There is something off with that Maia, there is a darkness within him, but you refuse to see it.”

“Annatar has been a captive. He’s been used by evil, but that does not make him-” Celebrimbor begun but his vehement defence for the being only caused Tussambo’s ire to spike.

In a moment the older smith had crossed the room with a few long strides and was hissing in Celebrimbor’s face:

“How do you know that!? How do you know he was not evil? How do you know he was a captive and not a willing accomplice!?” The older elf demanded and Celebrimbor leaned away from the onslaught of angry words.

“We found him wounded-”

“It’s more likely that it was done by the forces of good, fighting against his evil! It could have been blows dealt by Eonwe himself!”

“He is innocent - he hasn’t shown a hint of malice since he joined us-”

“Then what did he do in the pub? What of Borphen and his burns? Do you call that nothing!?”

“He was only trying to protect me.” Celebrimbor answered softly, a mixture of guilt and something warm curling in his stomach, forcing him to look away and hide the wistfulness in his eyes.

“I am not so certain.” Tussambo disagreed and Celebrimbor’s eyes returned to his.

“It was the reaction of one accustomed to violence.” Celebrimbor argued calmly. “One who doesn’t know any better.”

“I don’t believe that your cool and calculative Maia is that dull or impulsive.” Tussambo said. “I think he did it on purpose. I think he targets you, and you fall straight into his traps.”

“Targets me…” Celebrimbor couldn’t suppress a chuckle and a genuine smile from pulling at the corner of his lips. He tried unsuccessfully to fight the feeling of inappropriate elation that danced in his chest. “That’s a bit fanciful, don’t you think?”

At Tussambo’s sullen silence, Celebrimbor continued:

“What could he possibly have to gain from me? I’m just a smith - a rather glorified one with some political power and a few supporters in the artisan community, but if he needed to target or charm anyone, wouldn’t he be going for our lord Celeborn?”

“I cannot pretend to know what’s going on in a Maia’s head.” Tussambo said gravely. “But you are conveniently forgetting the most obvious reason-”

“Feanor’s blood?” Celebrimbor quirked an eyebrow in exasperation. “That’s more of a liability than anything else. In fact, I think that Annatar likes me despite Feanor’s blood, and that in itself is a rare and wonderful thing.”

“He likes you, huh?” It was Tussambo’s turn to raise an eyebrow and Celebrimbor promptly blushed. He couldn’t possibly mention his reasons for suggesting something so frivolous, not even to his friend.

If anyone, especially Tussambo, Celeborn or Galadriel found out about the night in Celebrimbor’s bedroom, and what Annatar had done for him… They would never trust Celebrimbor’s judgement on the Maia’s stay. And that couldn’t happen. Celebrimbor couldn’t let Annatar leave. Not so soon.

“Is it so strange to assume that he does?” Celebrimbor explained, pressured under the shrewd narrowing of Tussambo’s eyes. “He likes to trail after me and is constantly asking me to learn things about our culture. Is there any harm for me to hope that the pleasure is mutual?”

Celebrimbor winced at his own words, but thankfully Tussambo dismissed the awkward wording as the result of nerves.

“You must be more careful with your affections, Tyelpe. He’s a Maia and they are different beings altogether.” Tussambo reasoned wisely. “I haven’t personally known a Maia before, not even in the Blessed Realm where they walked amongst us, but I can tell you with certainty that they do not experience the world as we do. They have no need for friendship or companionship like the children of Eru. They can exist for eons without the trivialities of our lives. What drives them, what compels their thoughts and energies, their emotions - if they have such, no one can hope to understand.”

“If that is true, then what about Thingol and Melian?” Celebrimbor asked and both Tussambo’s eyebrows rose with sudden realisation and shock, and Celebrimbor hurried to cover up his slip: “I mean, can you truly tell me that Melian had no emotions? I’m speaking only hypothetically of course, because we have no real observation, but logically the theory you just expressed about Maiar doesn’t match to what we know has occurred in history…”

Tussambo was still leveling him a very serious look.

“I’m merely presenting an argument against your statement.” Celebrimbor said, running a hand over his brow. He could feel the blush on his own cheeks. “Don’t misread my words!”

“Alright.” Tussambo said and his voice was quiet and deadly serious. “But for the sake of argument, the presence of children between Maiar and Eldar doesn’t guarantee that Maiar feel the same emotions as we do. What drove Thingol and Melian to produce Luthien, might be two compulsions of a very different nature.”

“We have strayed off topic.” Celebrimbor sighed.

“Perhaps.” Tussambo nodded reservedly.

“I need your support on this matter, Tussambo.” Celebrimbor tried one last time. “I can have the whole Gwait-i-Mirdain support me in letting Annatar stay and then Celeborn would have no choice, unless he wants the city’s market to crash. But if you oppose my position on this matter, then the smiths would be divided and I might just fail to rally them to my cause. So I ask you for the last time - please, do this for me.”

Tussambo sighed and looked him in the eyes when he said:

“For the sake of our long friendship and the warm affection I have for you - I will not support this, Tyelpe.”

…

On the next gloomy morning Celebrimbor awoke to the sound of harsh rapping on his bedroom door.

He arose amongst the tangled sheets, the night having been a stiflingly moist one, and his rest fitful at best.

“Come in-” He called and Erutur, his housekeeper appeared at the doorway, looking almost as disheveled and bedraggled as Celebrimbor.

“Master Celebrimbor, something requires your attention at once!” The Sinda uttered and in the solemn urgency of his voice, Celebrimbor knew that something awful had happened.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, jumping out of his bed and pulling on an over-robe over his sleeping garb. “Is it Annatar?”

“No. Annatar is fine. He’s downstairs…” Erutur’s face paled even more and he looked away as he elaborated, “There’s been an accident in the forge.”

Celebrimbor’s fingers froze on the clasp of his outer robe and his blood turned cold. With wide-eyed shock he waited for his housekeeper to continue.

“There have been victims…” Erutur said very softly.

Celebrimbor forced himself into motion. He had figured as much, but hearing it made the knowledge no easier. He finished clasping his robe and swiftly stepped into his boots before bracing himself to ask the terrible question:

“Who?”

Erutur shook his head helplessly and when his eyes met Celebrimbor’s they were full of pity and sorrow.

“Tussambo and his apprentices…”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I was terribly busy and had zero time or energy to write, but I haven't forgotten about this WIP.  
> I hope there are still some of you who enjoy and follow this story!
> 
> *This line was taken from the Lord of the Rings - Aragorn's line - I couldn't resist :D


	7. Chapter 7

After the blast in the forges there was precious little left of Tussambo to burn at the funeral pyre, but nevertheless seemingly half the city had gathered to mark his passing. The ancient elf had left his mark on the fledgling city and many of its inhabitants, for he had been there from the start, landing his ancient knowledge and skill into building the foundations of Ost-in-Edhil, along with Celebrimbor, Erestor and Galadriel. However, he had been a lonely individual, who had never wedded and for his memory only a few of his closest friends came forth to speak.

Celebrimbor was one of them and after concluding the final speech, a silence seeped over the open square before the gates of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. In silence then the pyre burned and softly Celebrimbor came down from the dais to stand beside his people and watch the fire consume the wood.

The nippy spring sun shone cheerfully above the scene, its blinding daylight distant and uncaring for the laments of the elves and all other small creatures of Middle Earth. Celebrimbor tried not to cry, squaring his jaw and standing as a figure cut from stone with his eyes firmly fixed on the flames. He tried not to think of how much his friend would have liked to be alive and seen such a beautiful day, with spring’s blossoms raining on the white marble square and collecting on the ground around the edges of the elves' dark robes of mourning. He tried not to remember how proud Tussambo had always been of the bronze-cast fountain nearby, the one he had designed from sketch and smithed himself. It still sang its chiming melody, heedless of the smoking funeral pyre just beside it, not knowing that its creator would never return to sit on its edge and admire the rainbows that formed in the drizzle around its elegant metal arches.

He tried not to think of all the projects Tussambo had left behind or the red-rimmed eyes of families and spouses of the apprentices, who like their master, were being honored on that morning.

Finally it was over and Celebrimbor turned aside, dispersing together with the crowd from where the remains of the pyre were being cleared away. There was going to be a feast of remembrance, held inside the Gwaith-i-Mirdain’s main courtyard, however he was in no mood for feasting or attempting to forget the grief. Instead, he walked blindly in the opposite direction, towards the open half-circle of the square, which ended in a terrace to overlook Ost-in-Edhil from the high-vantage point of the hill-top.

Behind him a shadow separated from the shade of a flowering apricot tree, following him to the balustrade where Celebrimbor leaned his elbows as he looked out towards the tyres of the city bellow. The elf turned away, pretending to look towards the south, a rather transparent effort to hide from his friend the misery on his face. The Maia waited patiently, copying his position by the railing and remaining silent as the minutes passed by with nothing but voices muted by the strong wind and the scrape of burnt wood being cleaned off the pavement.

“You don’t have to stay here with me.” Celebrimbor mostly managed to keep his voice from quivering, despite the tightness in his throat. “Lord Celeborn has given you a permission to accompany me, but you don’t have to wait up. You can go join the feast, if you like. It’s about to get started.”

“What about you?” Annatar’s voice caressed like a warn hand running down the spine, and had managed to lose nearly all hints of the dialect he had spoken when they had first met.

“I’m not in the mood for gatherings.” Celebrimbor said, and in contrast, his voice grated like an old hinge. It made him wince.

“Then neither am I.” Annatar said smoothly and Celebrimbor turned to look him in the eyes, finding the Maia’s gaze attentive, with just the slightest edge of interest or curiosity burning beneath the calm of their depths. In the bright morning light, Annatar's eye colour looked too bright and too yellow to be anything as natural or mundane as elven irises. No, Annatar was a creature of fire and his flames competed even with the rays of Arien.

“You really shouldn't wait for me.” Celebrimbor shook his head. “I wish to be alone.”

“As you wish.” Annatar didn’t argue any more, and he walked away. Celebrimbor didn’t look after him, instead he turned his stinging eyes to the city below, blinking rapidly against the rising wind.

…

When Celebrimbor finally collected himself, he headed through the gilded gates of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, but instead of seeking Annatar at the feast in the courtyard, as a good host ought to, the elf took another turn and disappeared amongst the unnaturally empty hallways of the main complex that lead to the forges and the workrooms.

On that day no one had the impudence to continue working, everyone had gathered at Tussambo’s memorial, as was the correct thing to do, but Celebrimbor just couldn’t manage it, and selfishly, weakly he wished to mourn somewhere far from prying eyes and empty reassurances.

Unseeingly he found his way to his own workshop, the halls and turns leading there so familiar that he could reach it even in his sleep. The elf closed the door behind him, not bothering to turn the lock, which he never used, and sat down by the desk, his head coming to rest in his hands as choked sobs finally fought their way out of his chest as he remembered his friend and regretted their final confrontation.

What he didn’t notice was the raven that perched on the opened window of the glass dome above, through which rays of daylight fell into the old familiar room. The black bird inclined its head curiously, watching him with one large, intelligent eye before it flew away to dart around the high-roofs of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain before scooping low and landing on a branch in one of the enclosed inner gardens where a certain Maia waited.

The bird croaked in its own language and at the dismissal of the Maia, flew off on its own winged errands, while Annatar slowly smiled as he let himself in through yet another unlocked door and continued his clandestine exploration of the elven academy.

…

Later that afternoon Celebrimbor found his guest sitting quiet and isolated on one of the feasting tables. At the sight the elf’s heart twisted in guilt. He knew he shouldn’t have left the unfamiliar Maia all by himself to brave the strange rituals of elven society, but he had been too selfishly engulfed in his own sorrow to think of his friend.

“I apologize for leaving you alone.” He said softly as he took the unoccupied chair by Annatar’s. There was still some food and drink left on the table, even though most elves had long finished with the feasting. Annatar’s plate sat untouched.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Annatar said mildly, but his eyes were lowered and it sent a fresh stab of  guilt through Celebrimbor’s gut.

“Of course there is. I was a less than gracious host and I beg your forgiveness.” Celebrimbor said and resisted the urge to put a hand on Annatar’s or touch his shoulder - still uncertain if it was appropriate to touch the timid creature, even for reassurance.

Reluctantly Annatar looked up and met his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Celebrimbor was anxious to learn what the Maia wanted, for what he wordlessly begged with that sorrowful look…

“Do you wish to leave?” He ventured a guess and the way Annatar’s face brightened up told him that it had been the right one.

Without wasting time, Celebrimbor took Annatar away from the funeral feast and down the hallway that lead to the town square outside.

“Do you wish to return to my house, or go somewhere else…” Celebrimbor begun and when Annatar slowed down to a stop, hurried to stop and approach his friend, patiently waiting to hear what the Maia had to say.

“I do not mind either destination…” Annatar begun almost shyly. “Although in the days before, while you were away, I finished all the books in your study and your bedroom. So I was wondering…”

“I could take you to our library here in the Gwaith-i-Mirdain.” Celebrimbor said, a small smile lighting up his face at the idea. “The public collection is vast, and I’m certain no one would have any objection for you to look through it. There is no uncommon or forbidden knowledge there.”

Annatar met his eyes with a soft smile of his own.

“I would like that very much.”

…

As the rest of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, on that day of mourning the library was quiet and eerily empty. Secretly, Celebrimbor was glad that he didn’t have to face any of his colleagues so soon after Tussambo had passed away. He knew that they’d have to eventually talk about their loss, but it was good to put it off while the edge of grief was still too near to the bone.

He lead Annatar through the vast, echoing halls, keeping his voice hushed by force of habit as he explained the different sections. Soon they ended up in a compact corner bay, that formed a semicircle of book shelves themed on the most ancient forms of tengwar, with a small cushioned bench in the middle meant for reading.

Upon Annatar’s request, Celebrimbor reached up an arm to grab a volume from the higher shelves, but when he went down from the tips of his toes, he found his shoulder and back brushing against the Maia’s front.

With a small gasp of surprise, Celebrimbor half turned to face Annatar, who had come to stand in his personal space, so close that the folds of their robes were bunching together, even as their bodies were barely touching.

“Are you well, my Lord?” Annatar breathed hotly down his neck and Celebrimbor couldn’t suppress a shiver as he tried unsuccessfully to put some distance between himself and the Maia, who was crowding him against the bookcase.

“I… I’m not a Lord…” Celebrimbor stuttered, his thoughts scattering like a bag of marbles dropped on the floor when Annatar pressed his body against his side, and sent unbidden arousal throbbing through his veins.

“And I’m alright, Annatar, I am alright…” He tried to resist the distraction of his body, closing his eyes as he turned fully towards the Maia, and leaned back against the bookcase as he tried to push Annatar away. The Maia remained where he was, as unflinching and unmovable as a monolith of stone.

“But you are not.” Annatar’s hands came up to cup the sides of Celebrimbor’s face and the elf opened his eyes incredulously, a  blush heating his cheeks under the Maia’s touch. “I can see that you are grieving, the remains of tears still cling to your skin…”

Annatar’s thumbs caressed soft patterns from the elf’s bright grey eyes all the way down to his chin, and then without heed or warning, their soft pads brushed Celebrimbor’s lips, making the elf tremble as instinct dictated him to open his mouth just a bit.

Annatar wasted no time to go up on his toes and seal their lips into an open-mouthed kiss. The book fell from Celebrimbor's hands to the floor forgotten.

Annatar’s sleek tongue darted between his lips and Celebrimbor moaned, allowing his knees to bend just so he was on the same level with the slightly smaller Maia, allowing him to do as he pleased. Annatar’s hands let go of his jaw and smoothly ran down his body, finding seams in his robes and darting between them to caress whatever skin he could.

In a moment of near clarity, Celebrimbor tried to extricate himself from Annatar’s mouth and hands to ask:

“Annatar, wait - Annatar, why…” His speech came to a hitch as the Maia’s lips closed over his neck and the sensitive skin just underneath his jaw. Celebrimbor’s eyes rolled closed and he fell back against the bookcase for support. He was hopelessly aroused and too weak to resist the Maia's advances, but still he tried to demand: “You must tell me why you’re doing this, Annatar!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Annatar breathed against his collarbone, where his teeth now lightly nipped as he pulled Celebrimbor’s collar loose and deftly unbuttoned the up-most fastenings of his dark robes of mourning, exposing the fine lines of the elf's strong clavicles and upper chest.

In the silence that followed all that Celebrimbor could hear in the quiet library halls were the sounds of his own fast breathing and the bunching and pulling of cloth. Annatar was parting his robes and quickly working the lacings of his breeches.

“Please, tell me why!” Celebrimbor whispered.

Instead of answering, Annatar dropped down to his knees and looked up at him.

“Because you want me to.” The Maia said and although the elf wanted to protest, he didn’t get a chance to do so, because Annatar didn’t wait for his answer to take his already fully aroused organ into his mouth.

Sense bled from Celebrimbor like blood from a vein. The wet heat of Annatar's mouth was too much and he nearly choked on his own desperate moans, pressing his fingers against his mouth to keep them in only with moderate success. His other hand fell on Annatar’s impossibly luminous hair and for a moment his clutch was anything but gentle as he fought to steady himself, stuck between the motion of pulling and pushing away. He felt the Maia’s breath shorten against the wetness of the exposed skin of his groin and in a last ditch effort of self-control, Celebrimbor released him, even then worried that his touch might hurt or distress the being kneeling before him.

His grip closed instead on the bookshelves behind him, fumbling blindly and sending precious volumes to the ground in his haste to find an edge to grab on to - all the while, his pleasure was mounting so steeply, Annatar’s touch hot and teasing to the extreme, that the elf couldn’t hope to delay the quickly approaching end. All he could manage was another half-wrung sound of protest or warning, and the hope that the way his entire body clenched, the muscles of his core flexing and his thighs pressing together involuntary, would give Annatar enough of a clue, for he couldn’t remove the hand from his lips, least he cried out loudly enough to be heard outside.

He was impossibly close to the peak, when suddenly Annatar withdrew, leaving Celebrimbor shuddering with the agony of orgasm denial. The Maia didn’t release the hold of his hand at the base of the elf’s member and even as he trembled and sagged against the books behind him, Celebrimbor heard him say:

“Someone is here. They may come this way, or they may not.” Annatar said and Celebrimbor chanced a look down at thim. The sight of the impossibly handsome Maia on his knees with his petal lips, rosy and sleek from the work he’d been doing on his body, nearly stopped the elf’s heart. His eyes quickly darted away. “Perhaps you want to stop, least someone sees. Or do you want to continue?”

Finally catching up with the meaning of Annatar’s words, Celebrimbor sprung into panicky action. He attempted to right himself, and slip away from the Maia’s hold on him, but when Annatar remained exactly where he was with an innocent questioning look on his face, Celebrimbor quickly explained:

“We cannot get caught like this, Annatar.” He whispered, as he pulled his still hard member into his breeches and righted his robes. “This… we will talk about this later. But for now, you shouldn’t tell anyone about this, alright?”

Annatar slowly rose to his feet. Apart from the moisture still clinging to his lips, there was no outward sign that he’d engaged in any untoward activities mere seconds ago, and it somehow irked the elf, who in contrast was hot and bothered, still in such dire need that the walls of his stomach seemed to twist and fold in on themselves, twisting and protesting against the sudden deprivation.

“I understand.” Annatar said casing his eyes down in a gesture that looked almost forlorn. “You do not wish your people to know that you are associated with me in such a way.”

At this something in Celebrimbor’s soul stammered to a halt. For a moment all worry of who may approach and what scene they may witness disappeared and he turned to the Maia with all the gentleness he had in his heart.

“What are you saying, Annatar? This is not at all what I meant.” He reassured softly and boldly allowed himself to touch the Maia’s cheek, lifting Annatar’s face up until their gazes met, so that the being could glimpse his sincerity “I will explain this to you when we get back to the house, alright? For now, will you just trust me, that this has nothing to do with you or my willingness or unwillingness for people to know of… of us?”

Annatar nodded mutely and it seemed that Celebrimbor’s assurance hadn’t been enough to sooth the hurt in the Maia’s eyes, but for the time being it had to do.

Taking a risk, Celebrimbor took Annatar’s hand in his and lead him thus out of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain library and out towards the streets of Ost-in-Edhil. He knew that being seen holding hands with the Maia wasn’t going to do either of them favours, especially in the days to come when the decision of whether Annatar could remain had to be voted, but he couldn’t stomach being the cause of more pain for the poor creature, who had done nothing at all to deserve it.

What he wanted was to remedy that hurt, erase it forever. And the first step was getting the people of Ost-i-Edhil to trust Annatar, and possibly the Gwaith-i-Mirdain accepting him amongst them. If Annatar could remain and become one of his guild, then Celebrimbor just knew that the Maia could once again find his purpose and possibly be happy once more.

And then, only then would he allow himself to wonder about the strange relationship that was kindling between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend asked me once, how come I missed the chance to write some library smut in a previous work - well, let it never be said that I don't listen to my readers :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor opposes Celeborn and has a little chat with Annatar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Did you think I'd leave this WIP unfinished? :D RL tried to get in the way, but I'm back (after 1 year... omg...) Ok, let's see how this will go... Big thanks to everyone still reading, and welcome new readers!

“Lord Celeborn will see you now,” came the summon and Celebrimbor pushed off from the wall, over which he had leaned. There was a perfectly comfortable cushioned bench in Celeborn's waiting room, however the craftsman had quickly grown too impatient to sit in it.

It wasn’t as if Celebrimbor had come to petition his lord - Celeborn had summoned him, and after that seen fit to make him wait. To the feanorion it was an all too transparent attempt of power-play as he knew perfectly well the reason of Celeborn’s urgent demand for his presence.

Celeborn seemed to like to pretend that he still lived in a woodland cave from the way his cabinet was decorated. The white marble stones, from which most of Ost-in-Edhil was constructed, were carved intricately in silvan shapes of treetops and leaves. The only source of light came from pale blue crystal lanterns that hung in a manner that suggested a greater love for the aesthetic that of practicality. The large windows, which were also typical of the city’s architecture, were shuttered by thick vines that brushed the floor and filled the air with the sweet whiff of their many violet blossoms.

The serene atmosphere did nothing to sooth Celebrimbor’s irritation and judging by the straight line of Celeborn's mouth when he looked up from the neatly stacked papers on his writing desk, the lord of Eregion wasn't affected either.

Celeborn waited for the attendant to bow and close the door, leaving lord and vassal alone.

“Am I to take this as an act of rebellion?” Celeborn asked levelly.

“Would you call every small act of opposition to your will a rebellion?” Celebrimbor prompted, fully expecting the irritation that briefly flashed on the Sinda’s face, before it was stowed away.

“Take a seat,” Celeborn motioned to the chairs before his desk.

“I’ve been sitting in your waiting room for the better part of the evening,” Celebrimbor argued. “I trust that this would be brief, so I’d…”

“I command you!” Celeborn raised his voice, and in the next instant reigned it back to normal as he added as cool the water in a forest stream, “Or have you lost all loyalty to me and would disobey me at every turn?”

Celebrimbor bit his tongue and clenched his fists as he moved to obey. He sat down in one of the chairs before Celeborn’s desk and waited in tense silence.

Celeborn watched him for a long time, his strong archer’s fingers rolling two smooth riverstones in his palm. Click, click, click, they went and Celebrimbor fought not to grind his teeth in time with the repetitive noise. It was as if Celeborn was testing every bit of his patience that evening.

Tension had always existed between them. At first, because in his youth Celebrimbor had attempted to court Galadriel, only to get spurned in favor of Celeborn, who was a lesser aristocrat at the time, while Celebrimbor was a direct descendant of a line of kings.

Later tension came from Galadriel’s choice to shelter and support Celebrimbor, who had fallen from favor with all the ruling forces of elvendom and was struggling to continue living as a lowly blacksmith in Balar. Celeborn opposed it. To him and his folk the wound inflicted by the feanorians had been too fresh to forgive the son of one of the kinslayers. The fact that Celebrimbor’s adoration for Galadriel hadn’t quite passed, didn’t help either. However Galadriel had done as she wished, as always, and ignored her husband's feelings on the matter, giving Celeborn even more reasons to dislike his distant kinsmen.

Celebrian brought Celeborn and Celebrimbor together a little, both neri elated by her birth, and Celebrimbor had assumed the role of something like an uncle to the girl. Watching her grow had given the men something to bond over, and it hadn’t been so rare to see them laughing together in the company of Galadriel and Celebrian.

However the move to Eregion and the oath of fealty, which Celebrimbor swore to Celeborn strained their relationship once again, because even though Celebrimbor’s motives matched Celeborn most of the time, the craftsman hated being ruled and told what to do and when. And despite Celeborn often going easy on Celebrimbor, out of understanding for his eccentricities, when they argued he never hesitated to use his control over his vassal, and it drove Celebrimbor mad.

This time Celebrimbor had the upper hand. He had known all along that even if the whole council agreed upon Annatar’s stay in Ost-in-Edhil, Celeborn would seek to have his way and drive the Maia out of the city. That’s why he had taken the time to gather the unified support of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain and stage a strike that threatened to crash the city’s market.

When Celeborn had ruled that Annatar could not remain, despite of the majority of his council supporting Celebrimbor, the craftsman had only nodded in understanding and not even an hour later every affiliated artisan in the city had packed up their goods, closed their workshop, dosed the fires of their forge, and sat down with their arms crossed across the chest in protest.

Such a strike was as of yet unseen, and Celeborn had taken hours to figure out what was going on before summoning Celebrimbor to his cabinet in the evening. And this time, despite the little power-games that the Lord seemed to enjoy, Celebrimbor knew that he would get his way.

“So?” Celeborn asked at last. “Are you still loyal to me?”

“Yes.” Celebrimbor answered steadily.

“And how I’m supposed to take your recent actions?” Celeborn inquired coolly, “Why did you go behind my back and pressure my councilmen to back you in your fanciful, not to mention, reckless pursuit to allow that Maia to stay in our city? Why are Ost-in-Edhil’s craftsmen refusing to continue their work? Are you hoping to bend me to your will in that way? I could easily have you all arrested and bring an end to this audacity.”

“You may do so, my Lord,” Celebrimbor responded, “and you may seize the treasures of the Mirdain and empty it’s rich vaults. For how long would that last you, and what would happen to the city’s trade in the aftermath… No, what will happen once the High King hears of your act of tyranny - throwing a few hundred peaceful protesters in prison?”

“Perhaps there won’t be a need for that,” Celeborn responded, “I need only imprison one - the perpetrator himself.”

“Doing so will not solve your trade problems,” Celebrimbor assured him. “I have been named leader of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. They will continue to strike until I tell them to get back to their normal activities.”

Celeborn hissed a sharp breath between his teeth, as close to rage as he ever got. Round and round the river stones went and in their clicking noise Celebrimbor could hear his victory march.

Suddenly the Lord of Eregion was on his feet and by force of habit Celebrimbor hurried to rise as well.

Celeborn circled around his desk and stood before Celebrimbor. His jade eyes were narrowed as he gave the feanorian a once-over.

“Such a promotion should be sanctioned by the Lord of the city,” he said quietly. “Suppose I decide to be gracious - not the tyrant that you would paint of me, but a kind and forgiving lord, who wouldn’t punish a kinsmen, even when said kinsmen is guilty of treason. Tell me, Celebrimbor, how popular would you be with your followers if the taxation of your guild was to go up by… say 20-30… or even 50 percent, whist you are at its head?”

Celebrimbor’s eyebrows twitched. He tried to done a mask of neutrality over his features, but Celeborn’s sly retaliation was not something he had expected. In retrospect, he should have - Celeborn was quick-witted and pragmatic. Galadriel hadn’t married a dullard, even if the Sinda wasn’t skilled in any of the crafts that made a Noldo an elf worthy of esteem.

“If that was to happen, then we would work harder to meet our lord’s ever increasing demand,” Celebrimbor answered caustically.

“And if,” Celeborn took a step closer, “the tax was to double altogether? Would your craftsmen be happy that you prance around with a Maia, while they toil away and are still poorer then they were before, because they choose to support you?”

Celebrimbor’s mouth twitched up a little in smile he couldn’t suppress.

“I am glad you brought that up,” he said. “I am certain that under Annatar’s teachings our guild will prosper like never before. No amount of taxation would be able to hurt our coffers when we start producing goods of unseen wonder.”

Celeborn frowned and leaned back, an uncertain light flickering in his eyes. Celebrimbor pressed his advantage and took his turn to lean forward conspiratorially.

“I also belive that the Mirdain's contribution to the city’s administration wouldn’t hurt your coffers either, lord,” he added. “And I know that you have plans that need financing - a settlement on the other side of the Misty Mountains, if I remember correctly?”

Unfortunately it turned out that he had misjudged and he paid for it with the stinging in his cheek when Celeborn backhanded him sharply.

“Don’t think you can buy me that easily, feanorian,” Celeborn growled, possibly as livid as Celebrimbor had ever seen him. “If I agree to this it would be because I am left with no other choice, not because I care about your gold!”

Celebrimbor blinked as if shaken awake by the slap. What had possessed him to say something like that?!

“Forgive me, kinsman,” he lowered his gaze. His cheek burned and shame filled him like the blood that colored his cheeks. He remembered Tussambo’s final warnings.

As horror crept, he lowered himself to one knee before Celeborn and prayed that his kinsmen wouldn’t notice the inner turmoil that was threatening to tear him apart. He couldn’t afford a meltdown, not in front of Celeborn and not in such a decisive moment. Annatar… Annatar needed to stay. Celebrimbor couldn’t lose him, not yet. Not ever -

His submission seemed to take the edge off Celeborn’s anger. Celebrimbor heard his lord exhale a sigh.

“I ask you one last time - are you still loyal to me?”

“Yes,” Celebrimbor answered as steadily as he could.

Celeborn offered his hand and Celebrimbor kissed the large milky crystal ring on his finger (, which wasn’t made by Celebrimbor and was therefore even harder to kiss, because the craftsman could see its every flaw.)

“Rise, vassal,” Celeborn beckoned and Celebrimbor got to his feet. By the time he met the lord's eyes Celebrimbor had hidden his self-loathing and doubts to a dark corner of his mind, somewhere deep inside him, where Celeborn could never see them.

“I will accept your apology, and even allow this, if you answer this question to my satisfaction,” Celeborn continued. “Why are you so obsessed with that Maia?”

Celebrimbor’s blush was threatening to return.

“Obsessed isn’t a word I would use,” Celebrimbor begun and Celeborn raised an eyebrow in challenge. Flustered Celebrimbor continued, “Fascinated is a better word for it.”

“Alright, let’s call it fascinated,” Celeborn nodded expectantly.

“Annatar is…” Celebrimbor found himself in a rare struggle for words. “He’s a Maia and he’s a being from outside this world. I am thrilled to learn whatever secrets he chooses to divulge.”

He halted because the following words would unleash a stream of truths, which he couldn't entrust with Celeborn. He wanted to know so much, and Annatar had promised to teach him everything. He had grandiose visions of the future with Annatar beside him. He imagined the Gwaith-i-Mirdain elevated to prestige and power that had never been seen before. With the knowledge that Annatar had promised him, the ability to harvest the energy of the elements, of reality itself, well… Celebrimbor didn’t know if there was a limit to what could be done. And there was so much that needed doing, if the world was ever going to be fixed, if Middle Earth was ever going to be perfect...

“And what if he’s a servant of the enemy and he has no secrets to tell, but those of evil workings that will bring ruin to us all? Have you forgotten how we found him on the mountainside? What guarantee can you give me that I won’t regret permitting your vanity project?”

“I have none, but the feeling in my heart,” Celebrimbor vowed. “I can feel that this is right.”

Celeborn didn’t look impressed.

“Has your heart been right before?”

Celebrimbor swallowed thickly. As a matter of fact, it had never been right before. He wasn’t certain he should trust his heart at all. But when it came to Annatar - it felt so right...

“It’s a figure of speech,” Celebrimbor grumbled.

Celeborn was silent in his scrutiny once more. Finally he sighed and turned to walk back to his seat behind the desk, where he leaned back in his chair heavily.

“Tell your craftsmen to resume their activities,” Celeborn ordered. “I will give you my decision and it’s terms in three days time.”

“Three days?”

“To give me proof of your goodwill,” Celeborn elaborated.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath through the nose, and then he gave his acquiescence. He knew that he had won. It wouldn’t do to get petty about it.

…

He returned to his townhouse late in the evening. Erutur was there to greet him as usual and to offer to serve him a late dinner.

“Has Annatar eaten?” Celebrimbor asked and Erutur assured him that their guest had been fed and properly cared for through the day.

After hearing that Celebrimbor sent Erutur home. His housekeeper only left after repeated reassurances that Celebrimbor would eat something on his own. Finally the craftsman went up the stairs to the bedrooms.

The day had been long and he was eager to change his clothes and refresh. However he couldn’t resist knocking on the door of Annatar’s guest chambers first.

“Yes,” the Maia’s voice answered from inside.

Ignoring the nervous thrill in his gut, Celebrimbor pushed opened the door and his eyes immediately located Annatar reading quietly on the bed.

There were stacks of read books beside it; the Maia’s hunger for knowledge and reading speed were truly beyond anything Celebrimbor had ever witnessed. He doubted any elf could come even close to competing with that - not even the legendary genius Feanor.

Annatar was looking at him expectantly, but Celebrimbor wasn’t certain if there was any warmth in that gaze.

“I thought I come to wish you good evening,” he ran a hand through his long hair, “and to see if you needed anything.”

“Your housekeeper has been taking very good care of me all day. But I thank you for your concern,” the Maia answered pleasantly enough. He didn’t seem very forthcoming when it came to continuing their conversation.

Celebrimbor hesitated at the door, uninvited and uncertain if he should take Annatar’s coolness as a cue to leave. He didn’t want to. Especially not after all the trouble he had gone through to win Annatar’s stay in Ost-in-Edhil.

“Don’t you wish to know how it went?” he prompted a little testily, but he caught himself and managed to weed out the irritation and impatience from his voice.

“I trust that it went as planned,” Annatar’s eyes returned to the book in his hands and he resumed turning its pages swiftly as he spoke, “You said that I would remain if only you will it to be so. Why, do I have any reason to doubt your words, Tyelperinquar?"

Celebrimbor swallowed past a lump. That had not been the reaction he had expected or hoped for, neither had he ever imagined that Annatar would take his words and use them to attack him.

Above all, Celebrimbor was confused. Not a few days have passed since Annatar had dropped to his knees in front of him and sucked his cock with what appeared like genuine gusto. After their unexpected interruption and the brisk walk home - during which the elf had explained to the Maia why such relations were important to his people - Celebrimbor had fully expected (or at least hoped for) to continue where they had left off as soon as they got to his house.

Instead Annatar’s mood had switched completely and the Maia had bid the elf good day, closing himself in his guest room and only coming out to request more books.

And the arousal that had made Celebrimbor’s walk home almost painful… The elf could do nothing but grind his teeth and stamp it out.

As a response to the perceived rejection, Celebrimbor worked extra hard to ensure that his strike would succeed. Becoming the official head of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain had not been a part of the plan but it was a fortunate turn of events that he had looked forward to telling Annatar about.

Celebrimbor had thought that once all was done Annatar would run back into his arms and throw himself on his neck. Or at least show some appreciation.

Annatar looked up from the tome and quirked an eyebrow innocently.

“Can I help you with something?”

Celebrimbor managed to answer evenly despite the raging injustice and disappointment in his chest.

"No, not at all. I will see you in the morning."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annatar gets accepted in the Gwaith-i-Mirdain

Some months later (Summer)

The convocation that gathered to watch Annatar be welcomed into the prestigious Gwaith-i-Mirdain was larger than any the guild’s Great Hall had seen before. The majestic circular auditorium was surrounded by isles and two levels of galleries, each brimming with faces of elves and dwarves from various academic backgrounds. Celebrimbor had never seen the Great Hall so full, and was somewhat surprised by the realisation of how much his guild had grown. What had started as a handful of Noldor exiles, eager to preserve and teach their craft had become a multi-racial society of craftsmen and scientists of all kinds. Never before had he felt more powerful than as he stood before those gathered, easily captivating their attention, and giving the invocation to announce that Annatar had successfully passed the trials and proven himself worthy to be admitted - not as an apprentice, but as a master.

All of that was Celebrimbor’s doing and he allowed himself to enjoy his triumph. Of course, some of it was due to Annatar’s efforts.  In the months since Celebrimbor had won the right for Annatar to remain and move freely in Ost-in-Edhil, the Maia had begun the long and arduous process of his application to join the Gwaith-i-Mirdain and his academic achievements were certainly his own as was his success in winning the hearts of his peers. Many were reserved or downright suspicious about the strange newcomer. Some even feared the Maia. However once they truly met him, Annatar took everyone over by storm.

The Maia had a charisma about him that made even the most standoffish of masters become agreeable to his foreign viewpoints and unintelligible methods; as for the apprentices, most of them all but ate from his palms. Annatar had a way with everyone. Most of the professors who had tested his knowledge and skills said about him, that he could break one’s world-view and make them say “thank you” for it. That said, it quickly became apparent that there was no topic that Annatar didn’t have superior knowledge than his teachers.

The only thing Annatar claimed to lack experience in was the forging of weapons, and he seemed so uncomfortable with the prospect that it quickly was decided not to unnecessary push him. There were so many other, more relevant pursuits to engage in - weapons were a thing of an older age.

And now all the people Annatar had charmed and whose intense curiosity and zeal for knowledge he had ignited, were gathered to watch him be decorated with the tokens of his new status in the guild. He received the honorary Wreath of Holly, with leaves forged of silver sheets, dotted with berries of red garnet, and held together by interwoven branches of golden wire. The headpiece was ceremonial and had little practicality in its opulence, however when Celebrimbor placed it on Annatar’s head and the Maia lifted his eyes to hold his gaze, the elf’s heart nearly stopped.

Annatar was the most devine creature Celebrimbor had ever beheld. His beauty, decorated with gold, silver and gems, was comparable only to a silmaril - a blasphemous though - one for which he’d surely not be forgiven; but Celebrimbor felt like he treasured the Maia no less than his grandfather coveted his precious jewels.

The elf wanted to forget the crowd that surrounded them from all sides, the many eyes trained on him with expectancy, and admire Annatar’s beauty forever. But a moment had passed, and another one, and with utmost effort Celebrimbor found his voice to bid Annatar to rise from his kneeling position and join his comrades as one of their own.

After a brief anthem performed by the Mirdain’s resident talents, Celebrimbor closed the ceremony with a short, rousing speech about the glory of their guild and the exciting times to come, following that right up with an invitation to join the banquet in the gardens and further celebrate their esteemed new member. The last part was welcomed with cheers.

Despite how much everyone loved a feast and wanted to get to the gardens outside, the assembly was so vast that it took some time for everyone to vacate the Great Hall. Celebrimbor wasn’t in any hurry, so he used the time to observe his guest. Annatar was already engaged in a lively discussion with three of the guild’s grand masters, while the rest were gathered around, closely listening and piping up comments.

The elf took a moment to privately admire how wonderfully the Maia had adapted to their culture and society. Annatar had been so strange, and seemed so alien in the first few weeks of his stay in Ost-in-Edhil. However if one was to look at him in the present moment, they would never be able to tell that this was the same dark creature that Celeborn’s scouts had found on the mountainside on that fateful night.

Still, Celebrimbor couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness every time he realised how much Annatar had grown. That night was to be the first one that Annatar would spend in the dormitories of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, instead of Celebrimbor’s house. Despite the fact that Annatar had remained cool to Celebrimbor’s uncertain advances, and acted as if he no longer recalled the passion that had flared between them in the earliest stages of their cohabitation, the elf still felt it like a great loss to say goodbye to his friend’s presence in his house.

He had become so used to seeing Annatar each evening and sharing dinner, or at least a glass of wine in companionable discussions. It had become an incentive to come home at a reasonable hour, instead of forgetting himself in his workshop as he was prone to do before the Maia had so miraculously appeared into his life.

Annatar started walking and the rest followed him. Celebrimbor followed too, a little behind, his eyes glued to the back of Annatar’s head.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Rhossolas fell into step with Celebrimbor. “Usually you go on and on, and on…”

“I know better than to keep a Sinda from his wine,” Celebrimbor quipped in return.

“Ouch, that stung,” his old apprentice pressed a hand over his chest.

The ceremonial robes they were all wearing were long and free-flowing, blown about their lithe elven frames as they exited the hall under the late-morning sun. Celebrimbor alone wore crimson, Rhossolas and the other grandmasters were in navy blue. Annatar having joined the ranks of the masters wore black, and the apprentices were in fawn brown.

Outside in the park, which huddled between the various buildings of the Mirdain under the informal name of the Gardens, the assembly was greeted by colorful tents where food and drinks were served to many chatty mouths. The sun was high in the sky and there wasn’t a single cloud in it’s blue depths to cast a shade on the brilliance of that perfect summer day.

Soon there was to be laughter, toasts and songs, but first most of the guildsmen headed towards the serving tents.

Celebrimbor’s gaze trailed Annatar, who was once again surrounded by people vying for his attention. The Maia couldn’t catch a breath from admirers, but he didn’t show even a hint of exasperation - instead he shared his graces with all - from the most esteemed professors to the first-year apprentices. Celebrimbor couldn’t tell if his heart was swelling with pride or sadness. Annatar was doing so well. He didn’t need Celebrimbor’s guidance or protection anymore.

Someone cleared his throat and the Noldo suddenly recalled his friend, who was standing right next to him under the shade of an oak tree.

“Yes, where were we-” Celebrimbor startled out of his reverie and turned towards the serving tents. “To the wine, right?”

“Wait a minute,” Rhossolas laughed, grabbing him by the gem-encrusted sleeve. “You aren’t escaping this one so easily!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Celebrimbor claimed, “and come on now, before the Dorwinion finishes!”

“Alright, be that way,” Rhossolas shook his head with merry laughter. “But just know that you aren’t as inconspicuous as you like to think.”

Celebrimbor hoped that his friend didn’t see his blush. Either way, the safest thing to do was to down as much of that delightful imported wine as he could, and blame it for any facial discoloration that he may possess.

…

A few hours and many glasses of wine later, Celebrimbor found his courage to finally steal Annatar away from the crowd. It proved not difficult at all, everyone moved respectfully out of their leader’s way.

“You seem to be getting along with everyone very well,” he said to Annatar once the others had given them some room. “Do you like the party? It’s in your honour, yet I didn’t see you enjoying neither the food nor the drink.”

It was a good thing Celebrimbor could hold his liquor so well. No one seemed to notice just how much he had drunk in an attempt to drown certain thoughts.

“Perhaps you weren’t looking, because I can assure you that I appreciated both,” Annatar smiled sweetly, although it was clear his attention was elsewhere.

 _On the contrary_ , Celebrimbor thought, _I have been looking at you all day. You are lying to me, my dear Maia, but for what reason I cannot fathom._

It wasn’t important, so Celebrimbor decided to wave off the little lie.

“Take a walk with me,” he offered instead.

Annatar’s eyes briefly flickered to the other gathered guests, making Celebrimbor wait. It was maddening to be weighted against others, especially when Celebrimbor felt that he had more rights to Annatar’s time than anyone. Were they not friends? Hadn’t he hosted the Maia in his own house? Since when was he so insignificant that Annatar preferred the company of just about anyone to Celebrimbor’s?

“It would be my pleasure”, Annatar said in the end but it only marginally soothed the tension in Celebrimbor’s shoulders.

They walked a little away from the feast and the gardens. Celebrimbor was eager for some privacy, so he proposed that they get some air and lead Annatar up the long row of steps to the top of Ost-in-Edhil’s Eastern fortification, against which the Gwaith-i-Mirdain’s quarters were build.

They climbed to the top of the city wall and walked along the glistening stone rampart. From afar Ost-in-Edhil beamed a pearly white, an image from a fairytale for the younger races of Middle Earth - the white city of the elves. From up close the city’s forts were made of granite, but covered in a thin layer of much more aesthetically pleasing, smooth, white limestone. From a military standpoint such embellishment was useless. Other than blinding the enemy on a sunny day, the limestone added nothing to the city’s security, and it’s fragility theoretically made it easier for the walls to be scaled. However Eregion hadn’t seen a war in over a millenia, and granite was so utilitarian and so grimly unbecoming...

The elf and the Maia stopped where the shade of an observation tower fell across the wall-walk to escape the brightness of the midday sun. The breeze coming from the misty mountains was cool and Celebrimbor appreciated its freshness against his skin.

Despite not showing it, the elf was warmed by the alcohol like any other, and on an impulse he hopped on the parapet, taking a seat on the edge over the deep drop bellow. To his surprise Annatar was beside him in an instant, holding him by the long robes like a cat grabbing her kitten by the gruff.

The elf couldn’t hold back a disbelieving laugh.

“Whoa, someone got scared,” he chuckled and rocked back just a little, only to be pulled forward by the Maia.

“You’re drunk,” Annatar didn’t look amused.

“And you care,” Celebrimbor pointed out, a little thrill making his belly churn in some unknown emotion. Something extatic and reckless…

Annatar didn’t answer that. Instead he grappled with the elf until Celebrimbor was in his arms, being carried away from the parapet bridal style. The elf laughed despite the humiliation and marveled at the ease with which Annatar held him. The Maia deposited him on the floor, against the stone wall of a bastion.

“You really do care,” Celebrimbor concluded, leaning his back against the wall to steady his spinning head. “But why?”

“You are my friend,” Annatar answered with an unreadable expression.

Celebrimbor looked away and wet his lips. Distantly he knew he should accept that, but the drunk part of his brain had no such filter.

“I thought we were more than that,” he uttered softly.

Annatar was silent for a long while, making the elf fidget with his necklaces as he waited for an answer. Just when the silence was becoming unbearable Annatar responded:

“And I thought you didn’t want us to be more,” he said just as softly. “You warned me against your people finding out about us. Forgive me if I have misinterpreted your words. The ways of your people are still very much a mystery to me.”

“You seem to be getting on just fine…” Celebrimbor muttered, but before Annatar could respond to the bitterness he had let slip, he hurried to correct himself, “Well, you wouldn’t have had to wonder, if you had only asked. As it is, I am asking you - do you want to be something more to me?”

It took a lot of courage to ask the question directly and he hoped that the Maia would respond in kind.

“You are the reason why I am here today,” Annatar lowered his gaze. “I wish to be of service to you, and I would do as you ask in this as in everything.”

Celebrimbor frowned.

“That’s not what I want - what I wanted…” his tongue was getting mixed up in his mounting confusion. “I mean, did you really - Wait…”

Just then Celebrimbor noticed the sound of footsteps quickly approaching and he straightened himself. The head of one of his youngest apprentices appeared over the edge of the wall-walk as the boy took the steps at running speed.

“Masters…” the young elf huffed out of breath. His pale skin was coloured red by the exertion and he had to catch his breath before continuing.

In that split moment while they waited Celebrimbor’s heart sunk like a stone. What if another accident had happened…

“Masters Celebrimbor and Annatar,” the apprentice continued once he could speak, “I came to get you, because… there is a… dance competition going on and… master Lumornor is owning… all the other masters… and everybody… you should really come see!”

Annatar lifted an eyebrow in something like amusement and turned to look at Celebrimbor.

The latter frowned. There was little excuse not to return to the festivities without attracting unwanted attention once they had been summoned. And if that apprentice thought he was winning himself kudos with his master by interrupting the conversation, which Celebrimbor really needed to have, well… Celebrimbor decided to give him hell on the upcoming smithing trials.

“Thanks for letting us know,” he responded icily. “We’ll be right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! I'm sorry it takes me so long to get anything written - too much RL lately :D For those of you, who are still following the story from back then - you're the greatest! For the newest readers - welcome! :D


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